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JJLEXANDRE  T>UMAS 


K'a.'f=^ 


Francis  Miltoun 


Jluthor    of    ' '  Dickens'    London,  "    *  *  Cathedrals   of 

France.  "  "  gambles  in  Normandy,  "   "  Castles  and 

Chateaux  of  Old  Touraine,  "  etc. 


\  i 


'>i.»' 


3(Uuatratm 


-v^W 


If 


LC  PAGE- £f  COMPANY  p-] ,» 
BOSTON iS>  PUBLISHERS   i      '^^^ 


|J.<v.--^A-- 


Copyright,  igo4 
By  L.  C.  Page  &  Company 

(incorporated) 


All  rights  reserved 


Third  Impression,  April,  1908 


COLONIAL  PRESS 

ElectrotyPed  and  Printed  by  C.  //.  Simonds  &*  Co. 

Bosto7i,   U.  S.  A. 


Contents 


CHAPTER 

PAGfc 

I. 

A  General  Introduction  .        .        .        . 

I 

II. 

Dumas'  Early  Life  in  Paris     . 

H 

III. 

Dumas'  Literary  Career  .        ,        .        , 

33 

IV. 

Dumas'  Contemporaries     .       .        ,        , 

68 

V. 

The  Paris  of  Dumas 

83 

VI. 

Old  Paris 

126 

VII. 

Ways  and  Means  of  Communication 

147 

VIII. 

The  Banks  of  the  Seine  . 

i6s 

IX. 

The  Second  Empire  and  After 

178 

X. 

La  Ville 

195 

XI. 

La  CiTt 

235 

XII. 

L'Universit6  Quartier 

.     244 

XIII. 

The  Louvre          

.    257 

XIV. 

The  Palais  Royal      .... 

.     266 

XV. 

The  Bastille        .        .               .        . 

.     278 

XVI. 

The  Royal  Parks  and  Palaces 

.     297 

XVII. 

The  French  Provinces 

.     321 

XVIII. 

Les  Pays  Strangers  .... 

.     359 

Appendices 

.     373 

Index     

.    377 

219136 


Xfst  of  IFUustrations 

PAGB 

Alexandre  Dumas      .....       Frontispiece 

Statue  of  Dumas  at  Villers-Cotterets        .        .  14 

D'Artagnan 48 

Two  Famous  Caricatures  of  Alexandre  Dumas  68 
D'Artagnan,   from   the    Dumas   Statue  by   Gus- 

tave  Dore 123 

Pont  Neuf  —  Pont  au  Change        .        .        .        .135 

The  Odeon  in  1818 167 

Palais  Royal,  Street  Front 183 

Place  de  la  Greve 197 

D'Artagnan's  Lodgings,  Rue  Tiquetonne      .        .214 

Plan  of  La  CiTfe 236 

Carmelite  Friary,  Rue  Vaugirard        .        .        .  246 

Plan  of  the  Louvre 257 

The  Gardens  of  the  Tuileries       ....  265 

The  Fall  of  the  Bastille 284 

Bois  DE  Boulogne  —  Bois  de  Vincennes  —  Foret 

de  Villers-Cotterets 3^5 

Notre  Dame  de  Chartres 329 

Castle  of  Angers  —  Chateau  of  Blois          .        .  333 


2)uma0'  Paris 


CHAPTER   I. 

A   GENERAL   INTRODUCTION 

rHERE  have  been  many  erudite  works, 
in  French  and  other  languages,  describ- 
ing the  antiquities  and  historical  annals 
of  Paris  from  the  earliest  times;  and  in  English 
the  mid- Victorian  era  turned  out  —  there  are  no 
other  words  for  it  —  innumerable  "  books  of 
travel "  which  recounted  alleged  adventures,  strewn 
here  and  there  with  bits  of  historical  lore  and  anec- 
dotes, none  too  relevant,  and  in  most  cases  not  of 
undoubted  authenticity. 

Of  the  actual  life  of  the  people  in  the  city  of 
light  and  learning,  from  the  times  of  Napoleon 
onward,  one  has  to  go  to  the  fountainhead  of  writ- 
ten records,  the  acknowledged  masterworks  in  the 


2  2)ttmas'  Paris 

language  of  the  country  itself,  the  reports  and  aw- 
nuaires  of  various  societes,  commissions^  and  what 
not,  and  collect  therefrom  such  information  as  he 
finds  may  suit  his  purpose. 

In  this  manner  may  be  built  up  a  fabric  which 
shall  be  authentic  and  proper,  varied  and,  most 
likely,  quite  different  in  its  plan,  outline,  and  scope 
from  other  works  of  a  similar  purport,  which  may 
be  recalled  in  connection  therewith. 

Paris  has  been  rich  in  topographical  historians, 
and,  indeed,  in  her  chroniclers  in  all  departments, 
and  there  is  no  end  of  relative  matter  which  may 
be  evolved  from  an  intimacy  with  these  sources 
of  supply.  In  a  way,  however,  this  information 
ought  to  be  supplemented  by  a  personal  knowledge 
on  the  part  of  the  compiler,  which  should  make 
localities,  distances,  and  environments  —  to  say 
nothing  of  the  actual   facts  and  dates  of  history 

—  appear  as  something  more  than  a  shrine  to  be 
worshipped  from  afar. 

Given,  then,  these  ingredients,  with  a  love  of  the 
subject,  —  no  less  than  of  the  city  of  its  domicile, 

—  it  has  formed  a  pleasant  itinerary  in  the  expe- 
riences of  the  writer  of  this  book  to  have  followed 
in  the  footsteps  of  Dumas  pere,  through  the  streets 
that  he  knew  and  loved,  taking  note  meanwhile 
of   such   contemporary   shadows   as   were   thrown 


a  General  ITntrobuctton  3 

across  his  path,  and  such  events  of  importance  or 
significance  as  blended  in  with  the  scheme  of  the 
Hterary  Hfe  of  the  times  in  which  he  Hved,  none 
the  less  than  of  those  of  the  characters  in  his 
books. 

Nearly  all  the  great  artists  have  adored  Paris  — 
poets,  painters,  actors,  and,  above  all,  novelists. 

From  which  it  follows  that  Paris  is  the  ideal  city 
for  the  novelist,  who,  whether  he  finds  his  special 
subjects  in  her  streets  or  not,  must  be  inspired  by 
this  unique  fulness  and  variety  of  human  life. 
Nearly  all  the  great  French  novelists  have  adored 
Paris.  Dumas*  loved  it;  Victor  Hugo  spent  years 
of  his  time  in  riding  about  her  streets  on  omni- 
buses ;  Daudet  said  splendid  things  of  it,  and  nearly, 
if  not  quite,  all  the  great  names  of  the  artistic 
world  of  France  are  indissolubly  linked  with  it. 

Paris  to-day  means  not  "  La  Ville,"  "La  Cite," 
or  "  L'Universite,"  but  the  whole  triumvirate. 
Victor  Hugo  very  happily  compared  the  three  cities 
to  a  little  old  woman  between  two  handsome,  strap- 
ping daughters. 

It  was  Beranger  who  announced  his  predilection 
for  Paris  as  a  birthplace.  Dumas  must  have  felt 
something  of  the  same  emotion,  for  he  early  gravi- 
tated to  the  "  City  of  Liberty  and  Equality/'  in 


4  Dumas'  Paris 

which  —  even  before  the  great  Revolution  —  mis- 
fortune was  at  all  times  alleviated  by  sympathy. 

From  the  stones  of  Paris  have  been  built  up  many 
a  lordly  volume  —  and  many  a  slight  one,  for  that 
matter  —  which  might  naturally  be  presumed  to 
have  recounted  the  last  word  which  may  justifiably 
have  been  said  concerning  the  various  aspects  of 
the  life  and  historic  events  which  have  encircled 
around  the  city  since  the  beginning  of  the  moyen 
age. 

This  is  true  or  not,  according  as  one  embraces  a 
wide  or  a  contracted  horizon  in  one's  view. 

For  most  books  there  is,  or  was  at  the  time  of 
their  writing,  a  reason  for  being,  and  so  with 
familiar  spots,  as  with  well-worn  roads,  there  is 
always  a  new  panorama  projecting  itself  before 
one. 

The  phenomenal,  perennial,  and  still  growing  in- 
terest in  the  romances  of  Dumas  the  elder  is  the 
excuse  for  the  present  work,  which  it  is  to  be  hoped 
is  admittedly  a  good  one,  however  far  short  of 
exhaustiveness  —  a  much  overworked  word,  by  the 
way  —  the  volume  may  fall. 

It  were  not  possible  to  produce  a  complete  or 
"  exhaustive  "  work  on  any  subject  of  a  historical, 
topographical  or  aesthetic  nature:   so  why  claim  it? 


H  General  1rntto^uction  5 

The  last  word  has  not  yet  been  said  on  Dumas  him- 
self, and  surely  not  on  Paris  —  no  more  has  it  on 
Pompeii,  where  they  are  still  finding  evidences  of 
a  long  lost  civilization  as  great  as  any  previously 
unearthed. 

It  was  only  yesterday,  too  (this  is  written  in  the 
month  of  March,  1904),  that  a  party  of  frock- 
coated  and  silk-hatted  benevolent-looking  gentlemen 
were  seen  issuing  from  a  manhole  in  the  Universite 
quartier  of  Paris.  They  had  been  inspecting  a  newly 
discovered  thermale  etablissement  of  Roman  times, 
which  led  off  one  of  the  newly  opened  subterranean 
arteries  which  abound  beneath  Paris. 

It  is  said  to  be  a  rival  of  the  Roman  bath  which 
is  enclosed  within  the  walls  of  the  present  Musee 
Cluny,  and  perhaps  the  equal  in  size  and  splendour 
of  any  similar  remains  extant. 

This,  then,  suggests  that  in  every  land  new 
ground,  new  view-points,  and  new  conditions  of 
life  are  making  possible  a  record  which,  to  have  its 
utmost  value,  should  be  a  progressively  chrono- 
logical one. 

And  after  this  manner  the  present  volume  has 
been  written.  There  is  a  fund  of  material  to  draw 
upon,  historic  fact,  pertinent  and  contemporary 
side-lights,  and,  above  all,  the  environment  which 
haloed   itself   around   the   personality   of   Dumas, 


6  H)uma0'  Paris 

which  Hes  buried  in  many  a  cache  which,  if  not 
actually  inaccessible,  is  at  least  not  to  be  found  in 
the  usual  books  of  reference. 

Perhaps  some  day  even  more  will  have  been  col- 
lected, and  a  truly  satisfying  biographical  work 
compiled.  If  so,  it  will  be  the  work  of  some  ardent 
Frenchman  of  a  generation  following  that  in  which 
Alexandre  Dumas  lived,  and  not  by  one  of  the 
contemporaries  of  even  his  later  years.  Albert 
Vandam,  perhaps,  might  have  done  it  as  it  should 
have  been  done;  but  he  did  not  do  so,  and  so  an 
intimate  personal  record  has  been  lost. 

Paris  has  ever  been  written  down  in  the  book 
of  man  as  the  city  of  light,  of  gaiety,  and  of  a 
trembling  vivacity  which  has  been  in  turn  profli- 
gate, riotous,  and  finally  criminal. 

All  this  is  perhaps  true  enough,  but  no  more  in 
degree  than  in  most  capitals  which  have  endured 
so  long,  and  have  risen  to  such  greatness. 

With  Paris  it  is  quantity,  with  no  sacrifice  of 
quality,  that  has  placed  it  in  so  preeminent  a  posi- 
tion among  great  cities,  and  the  life  of  Paris  — 
using  the  phrase  in  its  most  commonly  recognized 
aspect  —  is  accordingly  more  brilliant  or  the  re- 
verse, as  one  views  it  from  the  boulevards  or  from 
the  villettes. 

French  writers,  the  novelists  in  particular,  have 


H  General  fntro^uctton  7 

well  known  and  made  use  of  this;  painters  and 
poets,  too,  have  perpetuated  it  in  a  manner  which 
has  not  been  applied  to  any  other  city  in  the  world. 

To  realize  the  conditions  of  the  life  of  Paris 
to  the  full  one  has  to  go  back  to  Rousseau  —  perhaps 
even  farther.  His  observation  that  "  Les  maisons 
font  la  ville,  mats  le  citoyens  font  la  cite/'  was  true 
when  written,  and  it  is  true  to-day,  with  this  modi- 
fication, that  the  delimitation  of  the  confines  of 
la  ville  should  be  extended  so  far  as  to  include  all 
workaday  Paris  —  the  shuffling,  bustling  world  of 
energy  and  spirit  which  has  ever  insinuated  itself 
into  the  daily  life  of  the  people. 

The  love  and  knowledge  of  Alexandre  Dumas 
pere  for  Paris  was  great,  and  the  accessory  and 
detail  of  his  novels,  so  far  as  he  drew  upon  the 
capital,  was  more  correct  and  apropos.  It  was 
something  more  than  a  mere  dash  of  local  colour 
scattered  upon  the  canvas  from  a  haphazard 
palette.  In  minutice  it  was  not  drawn  as  fine  as  the 
later  Zola  was  wont  to  accomplish,  but  it  showed 
no  less  detail  did  one  but  comprehend  its  full  mean- 
ing. 

Though  born  in  the  provincial  town  Villers- 
Cotterets,  —  seventy-eight  kilometres  from  Paris  on 
the  road  to  Soissons,  —  Dumas  came  early  in  touch 
with  the  metropolis,  having  in  a  sort  of  runaway 


8  Dumas'  Paris 

journey  broken  loose  from  his  old  associations  and 
finally  becoming  settled  in  the  capital  as  a  clerk 
in  the  Bureau  d'Orleans,  at  the  immature  age  of 
twenty.  Thus  it  was  that  his  impressions  and 
knowledge  of  Paris  were  founded  upon  an  ex- 
perience which  was  prolonged  and  intimate,  ex- 
tending, with  brief  intervals  of  travel,  for  over 
fifty  years. 

He  had  journeyed  meantime  to  Switzerland, 
England,  Corsica,  Naples,  the  Rhine,  Belgium,  — 
with  a  brief  residence  in  Italy  in  1840 — 42,  —  then 
visiting  Spain,  Russia,  the  Caucasus,  and  Germany. 

This  covered  a  period  from  1822,  when  he  first 
came  to  Paris,  until  his  death  at  Puys,  near  Dieppe, 
in  1870;  nearly  a  full  half-century  amid  activities 
in  matters  literary,  artistic,  and  social,  which  were 
scarce  equalled  in  brilliancy  elsewhere  —  before  or 
since. 

In  spite  of  his  intimate  association  with  the 
affairs  of  the  capital,  —  he  became,  it  is  recalled, 
a  candidate  for  the  Chamber  of  Deputies  at  the  time 
of  the  Second  Republic,  —  Dumas  himself  has 
recorded,  in  a  preface  contributed  to  a  "  Histoire 
de  I'Eure,"  by  M.  Charpillon  ( 1879),  that  if  he  were 
ever  to  compile  a  history  of  France  he  should  first 
search  for  les  pierres  angulaires  of  his  edifice  in  the 
provinces. 


H  Ocnetal  Ifntro^uctton  9 

This  bespeaks  a  catholicity  which,  perhaps,  after 
all,  is,  or  should  be,  the  birthright  of  every  his- 
torical novelist. 

He  said  further,  in  this  really  valuable  and  in- 
teresting contribution,  which  seems  to  have  been 
entirely  overlooked  by  the  bibliographers,  that  ''  to 
write  the  history  of  France  would  take  a  hundred 
volumes "  —  and  no  doubt  he  was  right,  though 
it  has  been  attempted  in  less. 

And  again  that  "  the  aggrandizement  of  Paris 
has  only  been  accomplished  by  a  weakening  process 
having  been  undergone  by  the  provinces."  The 
egg  from  which  Paris  grew  was  deposited  in  the 
nest  of  la  cite,  the  same  as  are  the  eggs  laid  par 
un  cygne. 

He  says  further  that  in  writing  the  history  of 
Paris  he  would  have  founded  on  "  Lutetia  (or 
Louchetia)  the  Villa  de  Jules,  and  would  erect  in 
the  Place  de  Notre  Dame  a  temple  or  altar  to 
Ceres;  at  which  epoch  would  have  been  erected 
another  to  Mercury,  on  the  Mount  of  Ste.  Gene- 
vieve; to  Apollo  in  the  Rue  de  la  Barillerie,  where 
to-day  is  erected  that  part  of  Tuileries  built  by 
Louis  XIV.,  and  which  is  called  Le  Pavilion  de 
Flore. 

"  Then  one  would  naturally  follow  with  Les 
Thermes  de  Julien,  which  grew  up  from  the  Villa 


lo  2)uma5'  parts 

de  Jules;  the  reunion  under  Charlemagne  which 
accompUshed  the  Sordonne  (^Sora  bona),  which 
in  turn  became  the  favourite  place  of  residence  of 
Hugues  Capet,  the  stronghold  of  Philippe-Auguste, 
the  bibliotheque  of  Charles  V.,  the  monumental 
capital  of  Henri  VI.  d'Angleterre ;  and  so  on 
through  the  founding  of  the  first  printing  estab- 
lishment in  France  by  Louis  XL;  the  new  school 
of  painting  by  Frangois  L;  of  the  Academic  by 
Richelieu;  ...  to  the  final  curtailment  of  monar- 
chial  power  with  the  horrors  of  the  Revolution  and 
the  significant  events  which  centred  around  the 
Bastille,  Versailles,  and  the  Tuileries." 

Leaving  the  events  of  the  latter  years  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  and  coming  to  the  day  in  which 
Dumas  wrote  (1867),  Paris  was  truly  —  and  in 
every  sense  — 

"  The  capital  of  France,  and  its  history  became 
not  only  the  history  of  France  but  the  history  of 
the  world.  .  .  .  The  city  will  yet  become  the  capital 
of  humanity,  and,  since  Napoleon  repudiated  his 
provincial  residences  and  made  Paris  sa  residence 
imperiale,  the  man  of  destiny  who  reigns  in  Paris 
in  reality  reigns  throughout  the  universe." 

There  may  be  those  who  will  take  exception  to 
these  brilliant  words  of  Dumas.  The  Frenchman 
has  always  been  an  ardent  and  soi-disant  bundle  of 


H  General  IFntrobuctton  " 

enthusiasm,  but  those  who  love  him  must  pardon 
his  pride,  which  is  harmless  to  himself  and  others 
alike,  and  is  a  far  more  admirable  quality  than 
the  indifference  and  apathy  born  of  other  lands. 

His  closing  words  are  not  without  a  cynical 
truth,  and  withal  a  pride  in  Paris : 

"It  is  true  that  if  we  can  say  with  pride,  we 
Parisians,  *  It  was  Paris  which  overthrew  the  Bas- 
tille,' you  of  the  provinces  can  say  with  equal  pride, 
*  It  was  we  who  made  the  Revolution/  " 

As  if  to  ease  the  hurt,  he  wrote  further  these  two 
lines  only: 

"  At  this  epoch  the  sister  nations  should  erect 
a  gigantic  statue  of  Peace.  This  statue  will  be 
Paris,  and  its  pedestal  will  represent  La  Province." 

His  wish  —  it  was  not  prophecy  —  did  not,  how- 
ever, come  true,  as  the  world  in  general  and  France 
and  poor  rent  Alsace  et  Lorraine  in  particular 
know  to  their  sorrow;  and  all  through  a  whim  of 
a  self-appointed,  though  weakling,  monarch. 

The  era  of  the  true  peace  of  the  world  and  the 
monument  to  its  glory  came  when  the  French 
nation  presented  to  the  New  World  that  grand  work 
of  Bartholdi,  "Liberty  Enlightening  the  World,'' 
which  stands  in  New  York  harbour,  and  whose 
smaller  replica  now  terminates  the  Allee  des  Cygnes. 

The  grasp  that  Dumas  had  of  the  events  o^  ro- 


12  Dumas'  parts 

mance  and  history  served  his  purpose  well,  and  in 
the  life  of  the  fifties  in  Paris  his  was  a  name  and 
personality  that  was  on  everybody's  lips. 

How  he  found  time  to  live  the  full  life  that  he 
did  is  a  marvel;  it  certainly  does  not  bear  out  the 
theory  of  heredity  when  one  considers  the  race  of 
his  birth  and  the  "  dark-skinned  "  languor  which 
was  supposedly  his  heritage. 

One  edition  of  his  work  comprises  two  hundred 
and  seventy-seven  volumes,  and  within  the  year  a 
London  publisher  has  announced  some  sixty  vol- 
umes "  never  before  translated."  Dumas  himself 
has  said  that  he  was  the  author  of  over  seven  hun- 
dred works. 

In  point  of  time  his  romances  go  back  to  the 
days  of  the  house  of  Valois  and  the  Anglo-French 
wars  (1328),  and  to  recount  their  contents  is  to 
abstract  many  splendid  chapters  from  out  the  pages 
of  French  history. 

It  would  seem  as  though  nearly  every  personage 
of  royalty  and  celebrity  (if  these  democratic  times 
will  allow  the  yoking  together  of  the  two;  real 
genuine  red  republicans  would  probably  link  royalty 
and  notoriety)  stalked  majestically  through  his 
pages,  and  the  record  runs  from  the  fourteenth 
nearly  to  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  century,  with 
the  exception  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XL 


a  (3eneral  IFntro^uction  13 

An  ardent  admirer  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  has  com- 
mented upon  this  lapse  as  being  accounted  for  by 
the  apparent  futility  of  attempting  to  improve  upon 
"  Quentin  Durward."  This  is  interesting,  signifi- 
cant, and  characteristic,  but  it  is  not  charitable, 
generous,  or  broad-minded. 


CHAPTER   II. 

DUMAS'   EARLY   LIFE  IN    PARIS 

yfT  fifteen  (1817),  Dumas  entered  the  law- 
yTj  office  of  one  Mennesson  at  Villers-Cot- 
terets  as  a  saute-ruisseau  (gutter-snipe), 
as  he  himself  called  it,  and  from  this  time  on  he 
was  forced  to  forego  what  had  been  his  passion 
heretofore :  bird-catching,  shooting,  and  all  manner 
of  woodcraft. 

When  still  living  at  Villers-Cotterets  Dumas  had 
made  acquaintance  with  the  art  of  the  dramatist, 
so  far  as  it  was  embodied  in  the  person  of  Adolphe 
de  Leuven,  with  whom  he  collaborated  in  certain 
immature  melodramas  and  vaudevilles,  which  De 
Leuven  himself  took  to  Paris  for  disposal. 

"  No  doubt  managers  would  welcome  them  with 
enthusiasm,"  said  Dumas,  "  and  likely  enough  we 
shall  divert  a  branch  of  that  Pactolus  River  which 
is  irrigating  the  domains  of  M.  Scribe"  (1822). 

Later  on  in  his  "  Memoires  "  he  says :  "  Complete 
humiliation;    we  were  refused  everywhere." 

14 


STATUE    OF    DUMAS    AT   VILLERS -COTTERETS 


Dumas'  jEarl^  %itc  in  Paris  i^ 

From  Villers-Cotterets  the  scene  of  Dumas' 
labours  was  transferred  to  Crepy,  three  and  a  half 
leagues  distant,  a  small  town  to  which  he  made 
his  way  on  foot,  his  belongings  in  a  little  bundle 
"  not  more  bulky  than  that  of  a  Savoyard  when  he 
leaves  his  native  mountains/' 

In  his  new  duties,  still  as  a  lawyer's  clerk,  Dumas 
found  life  very  wearisome,  and,  though  the  ancient 
capital  of  the  Valois  must  have  made  an  impress 
upon  him,  —  as  one  learns  from  the  Valois  ro- 
mances, —  he  pined  for  the  somewhat  more  free 
life  which  he  had  previously  lived;  or,  taking  the 
bull  by  the  horns,  deliberated  as  to  how  he  might 
get  into  the  very  vortex  of  things  by  pushing  on 
to  the  capital. 

As  he  tritely  says,  "  To  arrive  it  was  necessary 
to  make  a  start,"  and  the  problem  was  how  to 
arrive  in  Paris  from  Crepy  in  the  existing  con- 
dition of  his  finances. 

By  dint  of  ingenuity  and  considerable  activity 
Dumas  left  Crepy  in  company  with  a  friend  on  a 
sort  of  a  runaway  holiday,  and  made  his  third  en- 
trance into  Paris. 

It  would  appear  that  Dumas'  culinary  and  gas- 
tronomic capabilities  early  came  into  play,  as  we 
learn  from  the  "  Memoires  "  that,  when  he  was  not 
yet  out  of  his  teens,  and  serving  in  the  notary's 


1 6  Dumas'  patt0 

office  at  Crepy,  he  proposed  to  his  colleague  that 
they  take  this  three  days'  holiday  in  Paris. 

They  could  muster  but  thirty-five  francs  between 
them,  so  Dumas  proposed  that  they  should  shoot 
game  en  route.  Said  Dumas,  "  We  can  kill,  shall 
I  say,  one  hare,  two  partridges,  and  a  quail.  .  .  . 
We  reach  Dammartin,  get  the  hinder  part  of  our 
hare  roasted  and  the  front  part  jugged,  then  we 
eat  and  drink."  "And  what  then?"  said  his 
friend.  "What  then?  Bless  you,  why  we  pay 
for  our  wine,  bread,  and  seasoning  with  the  two 
partridges,  and  we  tip  the  waiter  with  the 
quail." 

The  journey  was  accomplished  in  due  order,  and 
he  and  his  friend  put  up  at  the  Hotel  du  Vieux- 
Augustins,  reaching  there  at  ten  at  night. 

In  the  morning  he  set  out  to  find  his  collab- 
orateur  De  Leuven,  but  the  fascination  of  Paris 
was  such  that  it  nearly  made  him  forswear  regard 
for  the  flight  of  time. 

He  says  of  the  Palais  Royale :  "  I  found  myself 
within  its  courtyard,  and  stopped  before  the  Theatre 
Franqais,  and  on  the  bill  I  saw : 

"  *  Demain,  Lundi 

Sylla 

Tragddie  dans  cinq  Actes 

Par  M.  de  Jouy* 


Dumas'  Barl^  Xite  In  parts  17 

"  I  solemnly  swore  that  by  some  means  or  other 
...  I  would  see  Sylla,  and  all  the  more  so  because, 
in  large  letters,  under  the  above  notice,  were  the 
words,  *  The  character  of  Sylla  will  be  taken  by 
M.  Talma/  " 

In  his  "  Memoires  "  Dumas  states  that  it  was  at 
this  time  he  had  the  temerity  to  call  on  the  great 
Talma.  "  Talma  was  short-sighted,"  said  he,  "  and 
was  at  his  toilet;  his  hair  was  close  cut,  and  his 
aspect  under  these  conditions  was  remarkably  un- 
poetic.  .  .  .  Talma  was  for  me  a  god  —  a  god 
unknown,  it  is  true,  as  was  Jupiter  to  Semele." 

And  here  comes  a  most  delicious  bit  of  Dumas 
himself,  Dumas  the  egotist: 

"  Ah,  Talma !  were  you  but  twenty  years  younger 
or  I  twenty  years  older!  I  know  the  past,  you 
cannot  foretell  the  future.  .  .  .  Had  you  known. 
Talma,  that  the  hand  you  had  just  touched  would 
ultimately  write  sixty  or  eighty  dramas  ...  in 
each  of  which  you  would  have  found  the  material 
for  a  marvellous  creation.  .  .  ." 

Dumas  may  be  said  to  have  at  once  entered  the 
world  of  art  and  letters  in  this,  his  third  visit  to 
Paris,  which  took  place  so  early  in  life,  but  in  the 
years  so  ripe  with  ambition. 

Having  seen  the  great  Talma  in  Sylla,  in  his 
dressing-room  at   the  Theatre   Frangais,   he   met 


i8  S)uma0'  Paris 

Delavigne,  who  was  then  just  completing  his  "  Ecole 
des  Viellards/'  Lucien  Arnault,  who  had  just 
brought  out  "  Regulus ; "  Soumet,  fresh  from  the 
double  triumph  of  ''Saul"  and  "  Clymnestre ;  " 
here,  too,  were  Lemercier,  Delrien,  Viennet,  and 
Jouy  himself;  and  he  had  met  at  the  Cafe  du  Roi, 
Theadlon,  Francis,  Rochefort,  and  De  Merle;  in- 
deed by  his  friend  De  Leuven  he  was  introduced 
to  the  assemblage  there  as  a  "  future  Corneille," 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was  but  a  notary's  clerk. 

Leaving  what  must  have  been  to  Dumas  the  pres- 
ence, he  shot  a  parting  remark,  "  Ah,  yes,  I  shall 
come  to  Paris  for  good,  I  warrant  you  that." 

In  "  The  Taking  of  the  Bastille  "  Dumas  traces 
again,  in  the  characters  of  Pitou  and  old  Father 
Billot,  much  of  the  route  which  he  himself  took  on 
his  first  visit  to  Paris.  The  journey,  then,  is  re- 
counted from  first-hand  information,  and  there  will 
be  no  difficulty  on  the  part  of  any  one  in  tracing  the 
similarity  of  the  itinerary. 

Chapter  I.,  of  the  work  in  question,  brings  us  at 
once  on  familiar  ground,  and  gives  a  description  of 
Villers-Cotterets  and  its  inhabitants  in  a  manner 
which  shows  Dumas*  hand  so  unmistakably  as  to 
remove  any  doubts  as  to  the  volume  of  assistance 
he  may  have  received  from  others,  on  this  particular 
book  at  least. 


Bumas'  iBaxl^  Xite  in  parts  19 

"  On  the  borders  of  Picardy  and  the  province  of 
Soissons,  and  on  that  part  of  the  national  territory 
which,  under  the  name  of  the  Isle  of  France,  formed 
a  portion  of  the  ancient  patrimony  of  our  kings, 
and  in  the  centre  of  an  immense  crescent,  formed 
by  a  forest  of  fifty  thousand  acres,  which  stretches 
its  horns  to  the  north  and  south,  rises,  almost 
buried  amid  the  shades  of  a  vast  park  planted  by 
Francois  I.  and  Henri  11. ,  the  small  city  of  Villers- 
Cotterets.  This  place  is  celebrated  from  having 
given  birth  to  Charles  Albert  Demoustier,  who,  at 
the  period  when  our  present  history  commences, 
was  there  writing  his  Letters  to  Emilie  on  Myth- 
ology, to  the  unbounded  satisfaction  of  the  pretty 
women  of  those  days,  who  eagerly  snatched  his 
publications  from  each  other  as  soon  as  printed. 

"  Let  us  add,  to  complete  the  poetical  reputa- 
tion of  this  little  city,  whose  detractors,  notwith- 
standing its  royal  chateau  and  its  two  thousand 
four  hundred  inhabitants,  obstinately  persist  in  call- 
ing it  a  mere  village  —  let  us  add,  we  say,  to  com- 
plete its  poetical  reputation,  that  it  is  situated  at 
two  leagues  distance  from  Laferte-Milan,  where 
Racine  was  born,  and  eight  leagues  from  Chateau- 
Thierry,  the  birthplace  of  La  Fontaine. 

"  Let  us  also  state  that  the  mother  of  the  author 


20  Bumas'  Paris 

of  '  Britannicus  '  and  *  Athalie '  was  from  Villers- 
Cotterets. 

*'  But  now  we  must  return  to  its  royal  chateau 
and  its  two  thousand  four  hundred  inhabitants. 

**  This  royal  chateau,  begun  by  Francois  I.,  whose 
salamanders  still  decorate  it,  and  finished  by 
Henri  IL,  whose  cipher  it  bears  entwined  with 
that  of  Catherine  de  Medici  and  encircled  by  the 
three  crescents  of  Diana  of  Poictiers,  after  having 
sheltered  the  loves  of  the  knight  king  with  Madame 
d'Etampes,  and  those  of  Louis  Philippe  of  Orleans 
with  the  beautiful  Madame  de  Montesson,  had  be- 
come almost  uninhabited  since  the  death  of  this 
last  prince;  his  son,  Philippe  d'Orleans,  afterward 
called  Egalite,  having  made  it  descend  from  the 
rank  of  a  royal  residence  to  that  of  a  mere  hunt- 
ing rendezvous. 

"  It  is  well  known  that  the  chateau  and  forest 
of  Villers-Cotterets  formed  part  of  the  appanage 
settled  by  Louis  XIV.  on  his  brother  Monsieur, 
when  the  second  son  of  Anne  of  Austria  married 
the  sister  of  Charles  IL,  the  Princess  Henrietta  of 
England. 

"  As  to  the  two  thousand  four  hundred  inhab- 
itants of  whom  we  have  promised  our  readers  to 
say  a  word,  they  were,  as  in  all  localities  where  two 


DumasMBarli?  %itc  in  parts  21 

thousand  four  hundred  people  are  united,  a  heter- 
ogeneous assemblage. 

"  Firstly :  Of  the  few  nobles,  who  spent  their 
summers  in  the  neighbouring  chateaux  and  their 
winters  in  Paris,  and  who,  mimicking  the  prince, 
had  only  a  lodging-place  in  the  city. 

"  Secondly :  Of  a  goodly  number  of  citizens,  who 
could  be  seen,  let  the  weather  be  what  it  might, 
leaving  their  houses  after  dinner,  umbrella  in  hand, 
to  take  their  daily  walk,  a  walk  which  was  regularly 
bounded  by  a  deep,  invisible  ditch  which  separated 
the  park  from  the  forest,  situated  about  a  quarter 
of  a  league  from  the  town,  and  which  was  called, 
doubtless  on  account  of  the  exclamation  which  the 
sight  of  it  drew  from  the  asthmatic  lungs  of  the 
promenaders,  satisfied  at  finding  themselves  not  too 
much  out  of  breath,  the  '  Ha,  ha ! ' 

"  Thirdly :  Of  a  considerably  greater  number  of 
artisans  who  worked  the  whole  of  the  week  and 
only  allowed  themselves  to  take  a  walk  on  the 
Sunday;  whereas  their  fellow  townsmen,  more 
favoured  by  fortune,  could  enjoy  it  every  day. 

"  Fourthly  and  finally :  Of  some  miserable  prole- 
tarians, for  whom  the  week  had  not  even  a  Sab- 
bath, and  who,  after  having  toiled  six  days  in  the 
pay  of  the  nobles,  the  citizens,  or  even  of  the  ar- 
tisans, wandered  on  the  seventh  day  through  the 


22  Dumas'  parts 

forest  to  gather  up  dry  wood  or  branches  of  the 
lofty  trees,  torn  from  them  by  the  storm,  that 
mower  of  the  forest,  to  whom  oak-trees  are  but 
ears  of  wheat,  and  which  it  scattered  over  the 
humid  soil  beneath  the  lofty  trees,  the  magnificent 
appanage  of  a  prince. 

"  If  Villers-Cotterets  ( Villerii  ad  Cotiam  Retise) 
had  been,  unfortunately,  a  town  of  sufficient  im- 
portance in  history  to  induce  archaeologists  to  ascer- 
tain and  follow  up  its  successive  changes  from  a 
village  to  a  town  and  from  a  town  to  a  city  —  the 
last,  as  we  have  said,  being  strongly  contested,  they 
would  certainly  have  proved  this  fact,  that  the  vil- 
lage had  begun  by  being  a  row  of  houses  on  either 
side  of  the  road  from  Paris  to  Soissons;  then 
they  would  have  added  that  its  situation  on  the 
borders  of  a  beautiful  forest  having,  though  by 
slow  degrees,  brought  to  it  a  great  increase  of  in- 
habitants, other  streets  were  added  to  the  first,  di- 
verging like  the  rays  of  a  star  and  leading  toward 
other  small  villages  with  which  it  was  important 
to  keep  up  communication,  and  converging  toward 
a  point  which  naturally  became  the  centre,  that  is 
to  say,  what  in  the  provinces  is  called  Le  Carrefour, 
—  and  sometimes  even  the  Square,  whatever  might 
be  its  shape,  —  and  around  which  the  handsomest 
buildings  of  the  village,  now  become  a  burgh,  were 


2)uma0'  Barl^  Xtte  In  parts  23 

erected,  and  in  the  middle  of  which  rises  a  foun- 
tain, now  decorated  with  a  quadruple  dial ;  in  short, 
they  would  have  fixed  the  precise  date  when,  near 
the  modest  village  church,  the  first  want  of  a  peo- 
ple, arose  the  first  turrets  of  the  vast  chateau,  the 
last  caprice  of  a  king;  a  chateau  which,  after  hav- 
ing been,  as  we  have  already  said,  by  turns  a  royal 
and  a  princely  residence,  has  in  our  days  become 
a  melancholy  and  hideous  receptacle  for  mendicants 
under  the  direction  of  the  Prefecture  of  the  Seine, 
and  to  whom  M.  Marrast  issues  his  mandates 
through  delegates  of  whom  he  has  not,  nor  prob- 
ably will  ever  have,  either  the  time  or  the  care  to 
ascertain  the  names." 

The  last  sentence  seems  rather  superfluous,  —  if 
it  was  justifiable,  —  but,  after  all,  no  harm  probably 
was  done,  and  Dumas  as  a  rule  was  never  vitupera- 
tive. 

Continuing,  these  first  pages  give  us  an  account 
of  the  difiliculties  under  which  poor  Louis  Ange 
Pitou  acquired  his  knowledge  of  Latin,  which  is 
remarkably  like  the  account  which  Dumas  gives  in 
the  "  Memoires  '*  of  his  early  acquaintance  with  the 
classics. 

When  Pitou  leaves  Haramont,  his  native  village, 
and  takes  to  the  road,  and  visits  Billot  at  "  Bruyere 
aux  Loups,"  knowing  well  the  road,  as  he  did  that 


24  Dumas'  lPari5 

to  Damploux,  Compiegne,  and  Vivieres,  he  was  but 
covering  ground  equally  well  known  to  Dumas' 
own  youth. 

Finally,  as  he  is  joined  by  Billot  en  route  for 
Paris,  and  takes  the  highroad  from  Villers-Cotte- 
rets,  near  Gondeville,  passing  Nanteuil,  Dammartin, 
and  Ermenonville,  arriving  at  Paris  at  La  Villette, 
he  follows  almost  the  exact  itinerary  taken  by  the 
venturesome  Dumas  on  his  runaway  journey  from 
the  notary's  office  at  Crepy-en-Valois. 

Crepy-en-Valois  was  the  near  neighbour  of  Vil- 
lers-Cotterets,  which  jealously  attempted  to  rival  it, 
and  does  even  to-day.  In  "  The  Taking  of  the 
Bastille "  Dumas  only  mentions  it  in  connection 
with  Mother  Sabot's  ane,  "  which  was  shod,"  — 
the  only  ass  which  Pitou  had  ever  known  which 
wore  shoes,  —  and  performed  the  duty  of  carrying 
the  mails  between  Crepy  and  Villers-Cotterets. 

At  Villers-Cotterets  one  may  come  into  close 
contact  with  the  chateau  which  is  referred  to  in  the 
later  pages  of  the  "  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne." 
"  Situated  in  the  middle  of  the  forest,  where  we 
shall  lead  a  most  sentimental  life,  the  very  same 
where  my  grandfather,"  said  Monseigneur  the 
Prince,  "  Henri  IV.  did  with  '  L2i  Belle  Gabrielle.'  " 

So  far  as  lion-hunting  goes,  Dumas  himself  at 
an  early  age  appears  to  have  fallen  into  it.  >   He 


Dumas'  JEarl^  Xite  in  parts  25 

recalls  in  "  Mes  Memoires  "  the  incident  of  Napo- 
leon I.  passing  through  Villers-Cotterets  just 
previous  to  the  battle  of  Waterloo. 

"  Nearly  every  one  made  a  rush  for  the  emperor's 
carriage,"  said  he;  "naturally  I  was  one  of  the 
first.  .  .  .  Napoleon's  pale,  sickly  face  seemed  a 
block  of  ivory.  .  .  .  He  raised  his  head  and  asked, 
*  Where  are  we?  '  *  At  Villers-Cotterets,  Sire,'  said 
a  voice.  *  Go  on.'  "  Again,  a  few  days  later,  as  we 
learn  from  the  "  Memoires,"  "  a  horseman  coated 
with  mud  rushes  into  the  village;  orders  four  horses 
for  a  carriage  which  is  to  follow,  and  departs.  .  .  . 
A  dull  rumble  draws  near  ...  a  carriage  stops. 
.  .  .  *  Is  it  he  —  the  emperor  ? '  Yes,  it  was  the 
emperor,  in  the  same  position  as  I  had  seen  him 
before,  exactly  the  same,  pale,  sickly,  impassive; 
only  the  head  droops  rather  more.  ...  *  Where 
are  we?'  he  asked.  'At  Villers-Cotterets,  Sire.' 
'  Go  on.'  " 

That  evening  Napoleon  slept  at  the  Elysee.  It 
was  but  three  months  since  he  had  returned  from 
Elba,  but  in  that  time  he  came  to  an  abyss  which 
had  engulfed  his  fortune.  That  abyss  was  Water- 
loo; only  saved  to  the  alHes  —  who  at  four  in  the 
afternoon  were  practically  defeated  —  by  the  com- 
ing up  of  the  Germans  at  six. 

Among  the  books  of  reference  and  contemporary 


26  Dumas'  iparis 

works  of  a  varying"  nature  from  which  a  writer  in 
this  generation  must  build  up  his  facts  anew,  is 
found  a  wide  difference  in  years  as  to  the  date  of 
the  birth  of  Dumas  pere. 

As  might  be  expected,  the  weight  of  favour  hes 
with  the  French  authorities,  though  by  no  means 
do  they,  even,  agree  among  themselves. 

His  friends  have  said  that  no  unbiassed,  or  even 
complete  biography  of  the  author  exists,  even  in 
French;  and  possibly  this  is  so.  There  is  about 
most  of  them  a  certain  indefiniteness  and  what 
Dumas  himself  called  the  "  colour  of  sour  grapes." 

The  exact  date  of  his  birth,  however,  is  unques- 
tionably 1802,  if  a  photographic  reproduction  of 
his  natal  certificate,  published  in  Charles  Glinel's 
"  Alex.  Dumas  et  Son  CEuvre,"  is  what  it  seems 
to  be. 

Dumas'  aristocratic  parentage  —  for  such  it  truly 
was  —  has  been  the  occasion  of  much  scofifing  and 
hard  words.  He  pretended  not  to  it  himself,  but  it 
was  founded  on  family  history,  as  the  records 
plainly  tell,  and  whether  Alexandre,  the  son  of  the 
brave  General  Dumas,  the  Marquis  de  la  Pailleterie, 
was  prone  to  acknowledge  it  or  not  does  not  matter 
in  the  least.  The  "  feudal  particle  "  existed  plainly 
in  his  pedigree,  and  with  no  discredit  to  any  con- 
cerned. 


j5)ttma5'  j6arl^  %iU  in  parts 


27 


General  Dumas,  his  wife,  and  his  son  are  buried 
in  the  cemetery  of  Villers-Cotterets,  where  the  ex- 
citing days  of  the  childhood  of  Dumas,  the  ro- 
mancer, were  spent,  in  a  plot  of  ground  "  con- 
ceded in  perpetuity  to  the  family."  The  plot  forms 
a  rectangle  six  metres  by  five,  surrounded  by  tower- 
ing pines. 

The  three  monuments  contained  therein  are  of 
the  utmost  simplicity,  each  consisting  of  an  in- 
clined slab  of  stone. 

The  inscriptions  are  as  follows: 


FAMILLE 


Thomas-  Alexandre 

Dumas 

Davy  de  la  Pailleterie 

gdn^ral  d^  division 

n^  k  Jeremie 

He  et  Cote  de  Saint 

Dominique 

le  25  mars  1762, 

dec^d^ 

k  Villers-Cotterets 

le  27  f^vrier  1806 


ALEXANDRE 


Marie-Louise-Eliza- 
beth Labouret 
Epouse 
du  g^n^ral  de  division 
Dumas  Davy 
de  la  Pailleterie 
nde 
k  Villers-Cotterets 
le  4  juillet  1769 

d^cdd^e 
le  ler  aout  1838 


DUMAS 


Alexandre  Dumas 

n^  k  Villers-Cotterets 

le  24  juillet  i8o2 

d^c^d^ 

le  5  d^cembre  1870 

iPuys 

transf^r^ 

k 

Villers-Cotterets 

le 

15  avril  1872 


There  would  seem  to  be  no  good  reason  why 
a  book  treating  of  Dumas'  Paris  might  not  be 
composed  entirely  of  quotations  from  Dumas'  own 
works.  For  a  fact,  such  a  work  would  be  no  less 
valuable  as  a  record  than  were  it  evolved  by  any 


28  S)umas'  Paris 

other  process.  It  would  indeed  be  the  best  record 
that  could  possibly  be  made,  for  Dumas'  topography- 
was  generally  truthful  if  not  always  precise. 

There  are,  however,  various  contemporary  side- 
lights which  are  thrown  upon  any  canvas,  no  matter 
how  small  its  area,  and  in  this  instance  they  seem 
to  engulf  even  the  personality  of  Dumas  himself, 
to  say  nothing  of  his  observations. 

Dumas  was  such  a  part  and  parcel  of  the  literary 
life  of  the  times  in  which  he  lived  that  mention 
can  scarce  be  made  of  any  contemporary  event  that 
has  not  some  bearing  on  his  life  or  work,  or  he 
with  it,  from  the  time  when  he  first  came  to  the 
metropolis  (in  1822)  at  the  impressionable  age  of 
twenty,  until  the  end. 

It  will  be  difficult,  even,  to  condense  the  relative 
incidents  which  entered  into  his  life  within  the 
confines  of  a  single  volume,  to  say  nothing  of  a 
single  chapter.  The  most  that  can  be  done  is  to 
present  an  abridgment  which  shall  follow  along 
the  lines  of  some  preconceived  chronological  ar- 
rangement. This  is  best  compiled  from  Dumas* 
own  words,  leaving  it  to  the  additional  references 
of  other  chapters  to  throw  a  sort  of  reflected  glory 
from  a  more  distant  view-point. 

The  reputation  of  Dumas  with  the  merely  casual 
reader  rests  upon  his  best-known  romances,  "  Monte 


Dumas'  lEavl^  %itc  in  Paris         29 

Cristo,"  1841;  "  Les  Trois  Mousquetaires,"  1844; 
"  Vingt  Ans  Apres,"  1845 ;  *'  Le  Vicomte  de  Brage- 
lonne,"  1847;  "La  Dame  de  Monsoreau,"  1847; 
and  his  dramas  of  "  Henri  III.  et  Sa  Cour,"  1829, 
"Antony,"  1831,  and  "  Kean,"  1836. 

His  memoirs,  "  Mes  Memoires,"  are  practically 
closed  books  to  the  mass  of  English  readers  —  the 
word  books  is  used  advisedly,  for  this  remarkable 
work  is  composed  of  twenty  stout  volumes,  and  they 
only  cover  ten  years  of  the  author's  life. 

Therein  is  a  mass  of  fact  and  fancy  which  may 
well  be  considered  as  fascinating  as  are  the  *'  ro- 
mances "  themselves,  and,  though  autobiographic, 
one  gets  a  far  more  satisfying  judgment  of  the  man 
than  from  the  various  warped  and  distorted  ac- 
counts which  have  since  been  published,  either  in 
French  or  English. 

Beginning  with  "  Memories  of  My  Childhood  " 
(1802 — 06),  Dumas  launches  into  a  few  lines 
anent  his  first  visit  to  Paris,  in  company  with  his 
father,  though  the  auspicious  —  perhaps  significant 
—  event  took  place  at  a  very  tender  age.  It  seems 
remarkable  that  he  should  have  recalled  it  at  all, 
but  he  was  a  remarkable  man,  and  it  seems  not 
possible  to  ignore  his  words. 

"  We  set  out  for  Paris,  ah,  that  journey !  I 
recollect  it  perfectly.  ...  It  was  August  or  Sep- 


30  2)uma6'  iParlB 

tember,  1805.  We  got  down  in  the  Rue  Thiroux 
at  the  house  of  one  DoUe.  ...  I  had  been  em- 
braced by  one  of  the  most  noble  ladies  who  ever 
lived,  Madame  la  Marquise  de  Montesson,  widow 
of  Louis-Philippe  d'Orleans.  .  .  .  The  next  day, 
putting  Brune's  sword  between  my  legs  and  Murat's 
hat  upon  my  head,  I  galloped  around  the  table; 
when  my  father  said,  '  Never  forget  this,  my  boy/ 
.  .  .  My  father  consulted  Corvisart,  and  attempted 
to  see  the  emperor,  but  Napoleon,  the  quondam 
general,  had  now  become  the  emperor,  and  he  re- 
fused to  see  my  father.  ...  To  where  did  we  re- 
turn?    I  believe  Villers-Cotterets." 

Again  on  the  26th  of  March,  18 13,  Dumas  en- 
tered Paris  in  company  with  his  mother,  now 
widowed.     He  says  of  this  visit : 

"  I  was  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  this  my 
second  visit.  ...  I  have  but  one  recollection,  full 
of  light  and  poetry,  when,  with  a  flourish  of 
trumpets,  a  waving  of  banners,  and  shouts  of 
*  Long  live  the  King  of  Rome,*  was  lifted  up  above 
the  heads  of  fifty  thousand  of  the  National  Guard 
the  rosy  face  and  the  fair,  curly  head  of  a  child  of 
three  years  —  the  infant  son  of  the  great  Napoleon. 
.  .  .  Behind  him  was  his  mother,  —  that  woman 
so  fatal  to  France,  as  have  been  all  the  daughters 
of  the  Caesars,  Anne  of  Austria,  Marie  Antoinette, 


Dumas'  iBatl^  %itc  in  parts  31 

and    Marie   Louise,  —  an    indistinct,    insipid    face. 
.  .  .  The  next  day  we  started  home  again." 

Through  the  influence  of  General  Foy,  an  old 
friend  of  his  father's,  Dumas  succeeded  in  obtaining 
employment  in  the  Orleans  Bureau  at  the  Palais 
Royal. 

His  occupation  there  appears  not  to  have  been 
unduly  arduous.  The  offices  were  in  the  right-hand 
corner  of  the  second  courtyard  of  the  Palais  Royal. 
He  remained  here  in  this  bureau  for  a  matter  of 
five  years,  and,  as  he  said,  "  loved  the  hour  when 
he  came  to  the  office,"  because  his  immediate  supe- 
rior, Lassagne,  — -  a  contributor  to  the  Drapeau 
Blanc,  —  was  the  friend  and  intimate  of  Desau- 
giers,  Theaulon,  Armand  Gouffe,  Brozier,  Rouge- 
mont,  and  all  the  vaudevillists  of  the  time. 

Dumas'  meeting  with  the  Due  d'Orleans  —  after- 
ward Louis-Philippe  —  is  described  in  his  own 
words  thus :  "  In  two  words  I  was  introduced. 
*  My  lord,  this  is  M.  Dumas,  whom  I  mentioned 
to  you,  General  Foy's  protege.'  *  You  are  the  son 
of  a  brave  man,'  said  the  due,  '  whom  Bonaparte, 
it  seems,  left  to  die  of  starvation.'  .  .  .  The  due 
gave  Oudard  a  nod,  which  I  took  to  mean,  '  He  will 
do,  he's  by  no  means  bad  for  a  provincial.'  "  And 
so  it  was  that  Dumas  came  immediately  under  the 


32  Dumas'  Paris 

eye  of  the  due,  engaged  as  he  was  at  that  time  on 
some  special  clerical  work  in  connection  with  the 
due's  provincial  estates. 

The  affability  of  Dumas,  so  far  as  he  himself  was 
concerned,  was  a  foregone  conclusion.  In  the 
great  world  in  which  he  moved  he  knew  all  sorts 
and  conditions  of  men.  He  had  his  enemies,  it  is 
true,  and  many  of  them,  but  he  himself  was  the 
enemy  of  no  man.  To  English-speaking  folk  he 
was  exceedingly  agreeable,  because,  —  quoting  his 
own  words,  —  said  he,  "  It  was  a  part  of  the  debt 
which  I  owed  to  Shakespeare  and  Scott."  Some^ 
thing  of  the  egoist  here,  no  doubt,  but  gracefully 
done  nevertheless. 

With  his  temperament  it  was  perhaps  but  natural 
that  Dumas  should  have  become  a  romancer.  This 
was  of  itself,  maybe,  a  foreordained  sequence  of 
events,  but  no  man  thinks  to-day  that,  leaving  con- 
tributary  conditions,  events,  and  opportunities  out 
of  the  question,  he  shapes  his  own  fate;  there  are 
accumulated  heritages  of  even  distant  ages  to  con- 
tend with.  In  Dumas'  case  there  was  his  heritage 
of  race  and  colour,  refined,  perhaps,  by  a  long 
drawn  out  process,  but,  as  he  himself  tells  in  "  Mes 
Memoires,"  his  mother's  fear  was  that  her  child 
would  be  born  black,  and  he  was,  or,  at  least,  pur- 
ple, as  he  himself  afterward  put  it. 


CHAPTER   III. 

DUMAS"   LITERARY   CAREER 

JUST  how  far  Dumas'   literary  ability  was 
an  inheritance,  or  growth  of  his  early  en- 
vironment, will  ever  be  an  open  question. 
It  is  a  manifest  fact  that  he  had  breathed  some- 
thing of  the  spirit  of  romance  before  he  came  to 
Paris. 

Although  it  was  not  acknowledged  until  1856, 
"  The  Wolf-Leader ''  was  a  development  of  a 
legend  told  to  him  in  his  childhood.  Recalling 
then  the  incident  of  his  boyhood  days,  and  calling 
into  recognition  his  gift  of  improvisation,  he  wove  a 
tale  which  reflected  not  a  little  of  the  open-air  life 
of  the  great  forest  of  Villers-Cotterets,  near  the 
place  of  his  birth. 

Here,  then,  though  it  was  fifty  years  after  his 
birth,  and  thirty  after  he  had  thrust  himself 
on  the  great  world  of  Paris,  the  scenes  of  his  child- 
hood were  reproduced  in  a  wonderfully  romantic 

33 


34  Bumas'  lParl6 

and  weird  tale  —  which,  to  the  best  of  the  writer's 
behef,  has  not  yet  appeared  in  EngHsh. 

To  some  extent  it  is  possible  that  there  is  not  a 
little  of  autobiography  therein,  not  so  much,  per- 
haps, as  Dickens  put  into  "  David  Copperfield,"  but 
the  suggestion  is  thrown  out  for  what  it  may  be 
worth. 

It  is,  furthermore,  possible  that  the  historic  asso- 
ciations of  the  town  of  Villers-Cotterets  —  which 
was  but  a  little  village  set  in  the  midst  of  the  sur- 
rounding forest  —  may  have  been  the  prime  cause 
which  influenced  and  inspired  the  mind  of  Dumas 
toward  the  romance  of  history. 

In  point  of  chronology,  among  the  earliest  of  the 
romances  were  those  that  dealt  with  the  fortunes  of 
the  house  of  Valois  (fourteenth  century),  and  here, 
in  the  little  forest  town  of  Villers-Cotterets,  was 
the  magnificent  manor-house  which  belonged  to  the 
Dues  de  Valois;  so  it  may  be  presumed  that  the 
sentiment  of  early  associations  had  somewhat  to  do 
with  these  literary  efforts. 

All  his  life  Dumas  devotedly  admired  the  senti- 
ment and  fancies  which  foregathered  in  this  forest, 
whose  very  trees  and  stones  he  knew  so  well. 
From  his  "Memoires"  we  learn  of  his  indignation  at 
the  destruction  of  its  trees  and  much  of  its  natural 
beauty.     He  says: 


Dumas'  Xiterar^  Career  35 

"  This  park,  planted  by  Francois  L,  was  cut 
down  by  Louis-Philippe.  Trees,  under  whose 
shade  once  reclined  Frangois  I.  and  Madame 
d'Etampes,  Henri  II.  and  Diane  de  Poitiers, 
Henri  IV.  and  Gabrielle  d'Estrees  —  you  would 
have  believed  that  a  Bourbon  would  have  respected 
you.  But  over  and  above  your  inestimable  value 
of  poetry  and  memories,  you  had,  unhappily,  a 
material  value.  You  beautiful  beeches  with  your 
polished  silvery  cases !  you  beautiful  oaks  with  your 
sombre  wrinkled  bark!  —  you  were  worth  a  hun- 
dred thousand  crowns.  The  King  of  France,  who, 
with  his  six  milHons  of  private  revenue,  was  too 
poor  to  keep  you  —  the  King  of  France  sold  you. 
For  my  part,  had  you  been  my  sole  possession,  I 
would  have  preserved  you;  for,  poet  as  I  am,  one 
thing  that  I  would  set  before  all  the  gold  of  the 
earth:  the  murmur  of  the  wind  in  your  leaves; 
the  shadow  that  you  made  to  flicker  beneath  my 
feet ;  the  visions,  the  phantoms,  which,  at  eventide, 
betwixt  the  day  and  night,  in  the  doubtful  hour  of 
twilight,  would  glide  between  your"  age-long  trunks 
as  glide  the  shadows  of  the  ancient  Abencerrages 
amid  the  thousand  columns  of  Cordova's  royal 
mosque." 

What  wonder,  with  these  lines  before  one,  that 
the  impressionable  Dumas  was  so  taken  with  the 


36  2)ttma5'  parts 

romance  of  life  and  so  impracticable  in  other 
ways. 

From  the  fact  that  no  thorough  biography  of 
Dumas  exists,  it  will  be  difficult  to  trace  the  fluctua- 
tions of  his  literary  career  with  preciseness.  It  is 
not  possible  even  with  the  twenty  closely  packed  vol- 
umes of  the  "  Memoires  "  —  themselves  incomplete 

—  before  one.  All  that  a  biographer  can  get  from 
this  treasure-house  are  facts,  —  rather  radiantly 
coloured  in  some  respects,  but  facts  nevertheless, 

—  which  are  put  together  in  a  not  very  coherent 
or  compact  form. 

They  do,  to  be  sure,  recount  many  of  the  inci- 
dents and  circumstances  attendant  upon  the  writing 
and  publication  of  many  of  his  works,  and  because 
of  this  they  immediately  become  the  best  of  all 
sources  of  supply.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  these 
"  Memoires  "  have  not  been  translated,  though  it  is 
doubtful  if  any  publisher  of  English  works  could 
get  his  money  back  from  the  transaction. 

Other  clues  as  to  his  emotions,  and  with  no  un- 
certain references  to  incidents  of  Dumas'  literary 
career,  are  found  in  "  Mes  Betes,''  "  Ange  Pitou," 
the  "  Causeries,"  and  the  "  Travels."  These  com- 
prise many  volumes  not  yet  translated. 

Dumas  was  readily  enough  received  into  the  folds 


Dumas*  Xiterari?  Career  37 

of  the  great.  Indeed,  as  we  know,  he  made  his 
entree  under  more  than  ordinary,  if  not  exceptional, 
circumstances,  and  his  connection  with  the  great 
names  of  literature  and  statecraft  extended  from 
Hugo  to  Garibaldi. 

As  for  his  own  predilections  in  literature,  Dumas' 
own  voice  is  practically  silent,  though  we  know  that 
he  was  a  romanticist  pure  and  simple,  and  drew  no 
inspiration  or  encouragement  from  Voltairian  senti- 
ments. If  not  essentially  religious,  he  at  least  be- 
lieved in  its  principles,  though,  as  a  warm  admirer 
has  said,  "  He  had  no  liking  for  the  celibate  and 
bookish  life  of  the  churchman." 

Dumas  does  not  enter  deeply  into  the  subject 
of  ecclesiasticism  in  France.  His  most  elaborate 
references  are  to  the  Abbey  of  Ste.  Genevieve  — 
since  disappeared  in  favour  of  the  hideous  pagan 
Pantheon  —  and  its  relics  and  associations,  in  "  La 
Dame  de  Monsoreau."  Other  of  the  romances 
from  time  to  time  deal  with  the  subject  of  religion 
more  or  less,  as  was  bound  to  be,  considering  the 
times  of  which  he  wrote,  of  Mazarin,  Richelieu,  De 
Rohan,  and  many  other  churchmen. 

Throughout  the  thirties  Dumas  was  mostly  oc- 
cupied with  his  plays,  the  predominant,  if  not  the 
most  sonorous  note,  being  sounded  by  "  Antony." 

As  a  novelist  his  star  shone  brightest  in  the  dec- 


38  H)uma6'  pads 

ade  following,  commencing  with  "  Monte  Cristo," 
in  1 84 1,  and  continuing  through  "  Le  Vicomte  de 
Bragelonne "  and  *'  La  Dame  de  Monsoreau,"  in 

1847. 

During  these  strenuous  years  Dumas  produced 
the  flower  of  his  romantic  garland  —  omitting,  of 
course,  certain  trivial  and  perhaps  unworthy  trifles, 
among  which  are  usually  considered,  rightly  enough, 
"  Le  Capitaine  Paul"  (Paul  Jones)  and  "Jeanne 
d'Arc."  At  this  period,  however,  he  produced  the 
charming  and  exotic  "  Black  Tulip,"  which  has 
since  come  to  be  a  reality.  The  best  of  all,  though, 
are  admittedly  the  Mousquetaire  cycle,  the  volumes 
dealing  with  the  fortunes  of  the  Valois  line,  and, 
again,  "  Monte  Cristo." 

By  1830,  Dumas,  eager,  as  it  were,  to  experience 
something  of  the  valiant  boisterous  spirit  of  the 
characters  of  his  romances,  had  thrown  himself 
heartily  into  an  alliance  with  the  opponents  of 
Louis-Philippe.  Orleanist  successes,  however,  left 
him  to  fall  back  upon  his  pen. 

In  1844,  having  finished  "  Monte  Cristo,"  he  fol- 
lowed it  by  "  Les  Trois  Mousquetaires,"  and  before 
the  end  of  the  same  year  had  put  out  forty 
volumes,  by  what  means,  those  who  will  read  the 
scurrilous  "  Fabrique  des  Romans  "  —  and  properly 
discount  it  —  may  learn. 


2)ttma6'  Xiterari?  Career  39 

The  publication  of  "  Monte  Cristo  "  and  "  Les 
Trois  Mousquetaires  '*  as  newspaper  feuilletons,  in 
1844 — 45,  met  with  amazing  success,  and  were, 
indeed,  written  from  day  to  day,  to  keep  pace  with 
the  demands  of  the  press. 

Here  is,  perhaps,  an  opportune  moment  to  digress 
into  the  ethics  of  the  profession  of  the  "  Hterary 
ghost,"  and  but  for  the  fact  that  the  subject  has 
been  pretty  well  thrashed  out  before,  —  not  only 
with  respect  to  Dumas,  but  to  others  as  well,  — 
it  might  justifiably  be  included  here  at  some  length, 
but  shall  not  be,  however. 

The  busy  years, from  1840 — 50  could  indeed  be 
"  explained  "  —  if  one  were  sure  of  his  facts ;  but 
beyond  the  circumstances,  frequently  availed  of,  it 
is  admitted,  of  Dumas  having  made  use  of  secre- 
tarial assistance  in  the  productions  which  were  ulti- 
mately to  be  fathered  by  himself,  there  is  little  but 
jealous  and  spiteful  hearsay  to  lead  one  to  sup- 
pose that  he  made  any  secret  of  the  fact  that  he 
had  some  very  considerable  assistance  in  the  pro- 
duction of  the  seven  hundred  volumes  which,  at 
a  late  period  in  his  life,  he  claimed  to  have  pro- 
duced. 

The  "  Maquet  affaire/'  of  course,  proclaims  the 
whilom  Augustus  Mackeat  as  a  collaborateur;  still 
the  ingenuity  of  Dumas  shines  forth  through  the 


40  Dumas'  pati0 

warp  and  woof  in  an  unmistakable  manner,  and  he 
who  would  know  more  of  the  pros  and  cons  is  re- 
ferred to  the  "  Maison  Dumas  et  Cie" 

Maquet  was  manifestly  what  we  have  come  to 
know  as  a  "  hack,"  though  the  species  is  not  so 
very  new  —  nor  so  very  rare.  The  great  libraries 
are  full  of  them  the  whole  world  over,  and  very 
useful,  though  irresponsible  and  ungrateful  persons, 
many  of  them  have  proved  to  be.  Maquet,  at  any 
rate,  served  some  sort  of  a  useful  purpose,  and  he 
certainly  was  a  confidant  of  the  great  romancer  dur- 
ing these  very  years,  but  that  his  was  the  mind  and 
hand  that  evolved  or  worked  oi^t  the  general  plan 
and  detail  of  the  romances  is  well-nigh  impossible 
to  believe,  when  one  has  digested  both  sides  of  the 
question. 

An  English  critic  of  no  inconsiderable  knowledge 
has  thrown  in  his  lot  recently  with  the  claims  of 
Maquet,  and  given  the  sole  and  entire  production 
of  "  Les  Trois  Mousquetaires,"  "  Monte  Cristo," 
"  La  Dame  de  Monsoreau,''  and  many  other  of 
Dumas'  works  of  this  period,  to  him,  placing  him, 
indeed,  with  Shakespeare,  whose  plays  certain  gulli- 
ble persons  believe  to  have  been  written  by  Bacon. 
The  flaw  in  the  theory  is  apparent  when  one  realizes 
that  the  said  Maquet  was  no  myth  —  he  was,  in  fact, 
a  very  real  person,  and  a  literary  personage  of  a  cer- 


Bumas'  Xltcran?  Career  41 

tain  ability.  It  is  strange,  then,  that  if  he  were 
the  producer  of,  say  "  Les  Trois  Mousquetaires," 
which  was  issued  ostensibly  as  the  work  of  Dumas, 
that  he  wrote  nothing  under  his  own  name  that 
was  at  all  comparable  therewith;  and  stranger 
still,  that  he  was  able  to  repeat  this  alleged  success 
with  "  Monte  Cristo,"  or  the  rest  of  the  Mousque- 
taire  series,  and  yet  not  be  able  to  do  the  same  sort 
of  a  feat  when  playing  the  game  by  himself.  One 
instance  would  not  prove  this  contention,  but  sev- 
eral are  likely  to  not  only  give  it  additional  strength, 
but  to  practically  demonstrate  the  correct  conclu- 
sion. 

The  ethics  of  plagiarism  are  still  greater  and  more 
involved  than  those  which  make  justification  for 
the  employment  of  one  who  makes  a  profession  of 
library  research,  but  it  is  too  involved  and  too  vast 
to  enter  into  here,  with  respect  to  accusations  of  its 
nature  which  were  also  made  against  Dumas. 

As  that  new  star  which  has  so  recently  risen 
out  of  the  East  —  Mr.  Kipling  —  has  said,  "  They 
took  things  where  they  found  them."  This  is  per- 
haps truthful  with  regard  to  most  literary  folk,  who 
are  continually  seeking  a  new  line  of  thought. 
Scott  did  it,  rather  generously  one  might  think; 
even  Stevenson  admitted  that  he  was  greatly  in- 
debted to  Washington  Irving  and  Poe  for  certain 


42  Dumas*  parts 

of  the  details  of  "  Treasure  Island  '*  —  though 
there  is  absolutely  no  question  but  that  it  was  a 
sort  of  unconscious  absorption,  to  put  it  rather 
unscientifically.  The  scientist  himself  calls  it  the 
workings  of  the  subconscious  self. 

As  before  said,  the  Maquet  affaire  was  a  most 
complicated  one,  and  it  shall  have  no  lengthy  con- 
sideration here.  Suffice  to  say  that,  when  a  case 
was  made  by  Maquet  in  court,  in  1856 — 58,  Maquet 
lost.  "  It  is  not  justice  that  has  won,"  said  Maquet, 
"  but  Dumas." 

Edmond  About  has  said  that  Maquet  lived  to 
speak  kindly  of  Dumas,  "  as  did  his  legion  of  other 
collahorateurs;  and  the  proudest  of  them  congrat- 
ulate themselves  on  having  been  trained  in  so  good 
a  school."  This  being  so,  it  is  hard  to  see  anything 
very  outrageous  or  preposterous  in  the  proce- 
dure. 

Blaze  de  Bury  has  described  Dumas*  method 
thus: 

"  The  plot  was  worked  over  by  Dumas  and  his 
colleague,  when  it  was  finally  drafted  by  the  other 
and  afterward  rewritten  by  Dumas." 

M.  About,  too,  corroborates  Blaze  de  Bury's 
statement,  so  it  thus  appears  legitimately  explained. 
Dumas  at  least  supplied  the  ideas  and  the  esprit. 

In  Dumas*  later  years  there  is  perhaps  more  jus- 


2)uma6'  Xtterars  Career  43 

tification  for  the  thought  that  as  his  indolence  in- 
creased—  though  he  was  never  actually  inert,  at 
least  not  until  sickness  drew  him  down  —  the  au- 
thorship of  the  novels  became  more  complex.  Blaze 
de  Bury  put  them  down  to  the  "  Dumas-Legion," 
and  perhaps  with  some  truth.  They  certainly  have 
not  the  vim  and  fire  and  temperament  of  individ- 
uality of  those  put  forth  from  1840  to  1850. 

Dumas  wrote  fire  and  impetuosity  into  the  veins 
of  his  heroes,  perhaps  some  of  his  very  own  viva- 
cious spirit.  It  has  been  said  that  his  moral  code 
was  that  of  the  camp  or  the  theatre;  but  that  is 
an  ambiguity,  and  it  were  better  not  dissected. 

Certainly  he  was  no  prude  or  Puritan,  not  more 
so,  at  any  rate,  than  were  Bums,  Byron,  or  Poe, 
but  the  virtues  of  courage,  devotion,  faithfulness, 
loyalty,  and  friendship  were  his,  to  a  degree  hardly 
excelled  by  any  of  whom  the  written  record  of 
cameraderie  exists. 

Dumas  has  been  jibed  and  jeered  at  by  the  super- 
cilious critics  ever  since  his  first  successes  appeared, 
but  it  has  not  leavened  his  reputation  as  the  first 
romancer  of  his  time  one  single  jot;  and  within 
the  past  few  years  we  have  had  a  revival  of  the 
character  of  true  romance  —  perhaps  the  first  true 
revival  since  Dumas'  time  —  in  M.  Rostand's 
"  Cyrano  de  Bergerac." 


44  Dumas'  parts 

We  have  had,  too,  the  works  of  Zola,  who,  indom- 
itable, industrious,  and  sincere  as  he  undoubtedly 
was,  will  have  been  long  forgotten  when  the  master- 
pieces of  Dumas  are  being  read  and  reread.  The 
Mousquetaire  cycle,  the  Valois  romances,  and 
"  Monte  Cristo "  stand  out  by  themselves  above 
all  others  of  his  works,  and  have  had  the  appro- 
bation of  such  discerning  fellow  craftsmen  as 
George  Sand,  Thackeray,  and  Stevenson,  all  of 
whom  may  be  presumed  to  have  judged  from  en- 
tirely different  points  of  view.  Thackeray,  indeed, 
plainly  indicated  his  greatest  admiration  for  "  La 
Tulipe  Noire,'*  a  work  which  in  point  of  time  came 
somewhat  later.  At  this  time  Dumas  had  built  his 
own  Chalet  de  Monte  Cristo  near  St.  Germain,  a 
sort  of  a  Gallic  rival  to  Abbotsford.  It,  and  the 
"  Theatre  Historique,"  founded  by  Dumas,  came  to 
their  disastrous  end  in  the  years  immediately  fol- 
lowing upon  the  Revolution  of  1848,  when  Dumas 
fled  to  Brussels  and  began  his  "  Memoires."  He 
also  founded  a  newspaper  called  Le  Mousqtietaire, 
which  failed,  else  he  might  have  retrenched  and 
satisfied  his  creditors  —  at  least  in  part. 

He  travelled  in  Russia,  and  upon  his  return  wrote 
of  his  journey  to  the  Caspian.  In  i860  he  obtained 
an  archaeological  berth  in  Italy,  and  edited  a  Gari- 
baldian  newspaper. 


Dumas'  Xiterari^  Career  4S 

By  1864,  the  "  Director  of  Excavations  at 
Naples,"  which  was  Dumas'  official  title,  fell  out 
with  the  new  government  which  had  come  in,  and 
he  left  his  partisan  journal  and  the  lava-beds  of 
Pompeii  for  Paris  and  the  literary  arena  again; 
but  the  virile  power  of  his  early  years  was  gone, 
and  Dumas  never  again  wielded  the  same  pen 
which  had  limned  the  features  of  Athos,  Porthos, 
Aramis,  and  D'Artagnan. 

In  1844  Dumas  participated  in  a  sort  of  person- 
ally-conducted Bonapartist  tour  to  the  Mediter- 
ranean, in  company  with  the  son  of  Jerome  Napo- 
leon. On  this  journey  Dumas  first  saw  the  island  of 
Monte  Cristo  and  the  Chateau  d'lf,  which  lived  so 
fervently  in  his  memory  that  he  decided  that  their 
personality  should  be  incorporated  in  the  famous 
tale  which  was  already  formulating  itself  in  his 
brain. 

Again,  this  time  in  company  with  the  Due  de 
Montpensier,  he  journeyed  to  the  Mediterranean, 
"  did  "  Spain,  and  crossed  over  to  Algiers.  When 
he  returned  he  brought  back  the  celebrated  vulture, 
"  Jugurtha,''  whose  fame  was  afterward  perpet- 
uated in  "  Mes  Betes." 

That  there  was  a  deal  of  reality  in  the  character- 
ization and  the  locale  of  Dumas'  romances  will  not 
be  denied  by  any  who  have  acquaintance  therewith. 


46  Dumas'  pads 

Dumas  unquestionably  took  his  material  where  he 
found  it,  and  his  wonderfully  retentive  memory,  his 
vast  capacity  for  work,  and  his  wide  experience 
and  extensive  acquaintance  provided  him  material 
that  many  another  would  have  lacked. 

M.  de  Chaffault  tells  of  his  having  accompanied 
Dumas  by  road  from  Sens  to  Joigny,  Dumas  being 
about  to  appeal  to  the  republican  constituency  of 
that  place  for  their  support  of  him  as  a  candidate 
for  the  parliamentary  elections. 

'*  In  a  short  time  we  were  on  the  road,"  said  the 
narrator,  "  and  the  first  stage  of  three  hours  seemed 
to  me  only  as  many  minutes.  Whenever  we  passed 
a  country-seat,  out  came  a  lot  of  anecdotes  and 
legends  connected  with  its  owners,  interlarded  with 
quaint  fancies  and  epigrams.'* 

Aside  from  the  descriptions  of  the  country  around 
about  Crepy,  Compiegne,  and  Villers-Cotterets 
which  he  wove  into  the  Valois  tales,  "  The  Taking 
of  the  Bastille,"  and  "  The  Wolf -Leader,"  there  is 
a  strong  note  of  personality  in  "  Georges ; "  some 
have  called  it  autobiography. 

The  tale  opens  in  the  far-distant  Isle  of  France, 
called  since  the  English  occupation  Mauritius,  and 
in  the  narrative  of  the  half-caste  Georges  Munier 
are  supposed  to  be  reflected  many  of  the  personal 
incidents  of  the  life  of  the  author. 


2)ttmas'  Xitetari?  Career  47 

This  story  may  or  may  not  be  a  mere  repetition  of 
certain  of  the  incidents  of  the  struggle  of  the 
mulatto  against  the  barrier  of  the  white  aristocracy, 
and  may  have  been  an  echo  in  Dumas'  own  life. 
It  is  repeated  it  may  have  been  this,  or  it  may  have 
been  much  more.  Certain  it  is,  there  is  an  under- 
lying motive  which  could  only  have  been  realized 
to  the  full  extent  expressed  therein  by  one  who 
knew  and  felt  the  pangs  of  the  encounter  with  a 
world  which  only  could  come  to  one  of  genius 
who  was  by  reason  of  race  or  creed  outclassed  by 
his  contemporaries;  and  therein  is  given  the  most 
vivid  expression  of  the  rise  of  one  who  had  every- 
thing against  him  at  the  start. 

This  was  not  wholly  true  of  Dumas  himself,  to 
be  sure,  as  he  was  endowed  with  certain  influential 
friends.  Still  it  was  mainly  through  his  own  efforts 
that  he  was  able  to  prevail  upon  the  old  associates 
and  friends  of  the  dashing  General  Dumas,  his 
father,  to  give  him  his  first  lift  along  the  rough' 
and  stony  literary  pathway. 

In  this  book  there  is  a  curious  interweaving  of 
the  life  and  colour  which  may  have  had  not  a  little 
to  do  with  the  actual  life  which  obtained  with 
respect  to  his  ancestors,  and  as  such,  and  the  various 
descriptions  of  negro  and  Creole  life,  the  story  be- 


48  Dumas'  Paris 

comes  at  once  a  document  of  prime  interest  and 
importance. 

Since  Dumas  himself  has  explained  and  justified 
the  circumstance  out  of  which  grew  the  conception 
of  the  D'Artagnan  romances,  it  is  perhaps  advisable 
that  some  account  should  be  given  of  the  original 
D'Artagnan. 

Primarily,  the  interest  in  Dumas'  romance  of 
"  Les  Trois  Mousquetaires "  is  as  great,  if  not 
greater,  with  respect  to  the  characters  as  it  is  with' 
the  scenes  in  which  they  lived  and  acted  their  stren- 
uous parts.  In  addition,  there  is  the  profound 
satisfaction  of  knowing  that  the  rollicking  and  gal- 
lant swashbuckler  has  come  down  to  us  from  the 
pages  of  real  life,  as  Dumas  himself  recounts  in 
the  preface  to  the  Colman  Levy  edition  of  the  book. 
The  statement  of  Dumas  is  explicit  enough;  there 
is  no  mistaking  his  words  which  open  the  preface: 

"  Dans  laquelle 
II  est  ^tabli  que,  malgrd  leurs  noms  en  os  et  en  /j, 
Les  hdros  de  I'histoire 
Que  nous  allons  avoir  I'honneur  de  raconter  k  nos  lecteurs 
N'ont  rien  de  mythologique." 

The  contemporary  facts  which  connect  the  real 
Comte  d'Artagnan  with  romances  are  as  follows : 
Charles  de  Batz  de  Castlemore,  Comte  d'Arta- 


d'artagnan 


Dumas'  Xiterar^  Career  49 

gnan,  received  his  title  from  the  little  village  of 
Artagnan,  near  the  Gascon  town  of  Orthez  in  the 
present  department  of  the  Hautes-Pyrenees.  He 
was  born  in  1623.  Dumas,  with  an  author's  license, 
made  his  chief  figure  a  dozen  years  older,  for  the 
real  D'Artagnan  was  but  five  years  old  at  the  time 
of  the  siege  of  La  Rochelle  of  which  Dumas  makes 
mention.  On  the  whole,  the  romance  is  near  enough 
to  reality  to  form  an  ample  endorsement  of  the 
author's  verity. 

The  real  D'Artagnan  made  his  way  to  Paris,  as 
did  he  of  the  romance.  Here  he  met  his  fellow 
Bearnais,  one  M.  de  Treville,  captain  of  the  king's 
musketeers,  and  the  illustrious  individuals,  Armand 
de  Sillegue  d'Athos,  a  Bearnais  nobleman  who  died 
in  1645,  and  whose  direct  descendant.  Colonel  de 
Sillegue,  commanded,  according  to  the  French  army 
lists  of  a  recent  date,  a  regiment  of  French  cavalry ; 
Henry  d'Aramitz,  lay  abbe  of  Oloron;  and  Jean 
de  Portu,  all  of  them  probably  neighbours  in  D'Ar- 
tagnan's  old  home. 

D'Artagnan  could  not  then  have  been  at  the  siege 
of  La  Rochelle,  but  from  the  "  Memoires  de  M. 
d' Artagnan,"  of  which  Dumas  writes  in  his  preface, 
we  learn  of  his  feats  at  arms  at  Arras,  Valenciennes, 
Douai,  and  Lille,  all  places  where  once  and  again 
Dumas  placed  the  action  of  the  novels. 


50  Dumas'  Paris 

The  real  D'Artagnan  died,  sword  in  hand,  "  in 
the  imminent  deadly  breach  "  at  Maestricht,  in  1673. 
He  served,  too,  under  Prince  Rupert  in  the  Civil 
War,  and  frequently  visited  England,  where  he  had 
an  affaire  with  a  certain  Milady,  which  is  again 
reminiscent  of  the  pages  of  Dumas. 

This  D'Artagnan  in  the  flesh  married  Charlotte 
Anne  de  Chanlecy,  and  the  last  of  his  direct  de- 
scendants died  in  Paris  in  the  latter  years  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  but  collateral  branches  of  the 
family  appear  still  to  exist  in  Gascony,  and  there 
was  a  certain  Baron  de  Batz,  a  Bearnais,  who  made 
a  daring  attempt  to  save  Marie  Antoinette  in  1793. 

The  inception  of  the  whole  work  in  Dumas'  mind, 
as  he  says,  came  to  him  while  he  was  making  re- 
search in  the  "  Bibliotheque  Royale  "  for  his  his- 
tory of  Louis  XIV. 

Thus  from  these  beginnings  grew  up  that  series 
of  romances  which  gave  undying  fame  to  Alexandre 
Dumas,  and  to  the  world  of  readers  a  series  of 
characters  and  scenes  associated  with  the  mediaeval 
history  of  France,  which,  before  or  since,  have  not 
been  equalled. 

Alexandre  Dumas  has  been  described  as  some- 
thing of  the  soldier,  the  cook,  and  the  traveller, 
more  of  the  journalist,  diplomatist,  and  poet,  and, 
more  than  all  else,  the  dramatist,  romancer,   and 


Dumas'  Xttetat^  Career  si 

raconteur.  He  himself  has  said  that  he  was  a  **  veri- 
table Wandering  Jew  of  literature." 

His  versatility  in  no  way  comprised  his  abilities, 
and,  while  conceit  and  egoism  played  a  not  unim- 
portant share  in  his  make-up,  his  affability  —  when 
he  so  chose  —  caused  him  to  be  ranked  highly  in 
the  estimation  of  his  equals  and  contemporaries. 
By  the  cur-dogs,  which  always  snap  at  the  heels 
of  a  more  splendid  animal,  he  was  not  ranked  so 
high. 

Certain  of  these  were  for  ever  twitting  him  pub- 
licly of  his  creed,  race,  and  foibles.  It  is  recorded 
by  Theodore  de  Bauville,  in  his  "  Odes,"  that  one 
Jacquot  hailed  Dumas  in  the  open  street  with  a 
ribald  jeer,  when,  calmly  turning  to  his  detractor, 
Dumas  said,  simply :  "  Hast  thou  dined  to-day, 
Jacquot?  "  Then  it  was  that  this  said  Jacquot  pub- 
lished the  slanderous  brochure,  '*"  La  Maison  Dumas 
et  Cie"  which  has  gone  down  as  something  con- 
siderable of  a  sensation  in  the  annals  of  literary 
history;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  most  writers 
who  have  had  occasion  to  refer  to  Dumas'  literary 
career  have  apparently  half-believed  its  accusa- 
tions, which,  truth  to  tell,  may  have  had  some  bear- 
ing on  "  things  as  they  were,"  had  they  but  been  put 
forward  as  a  bit  of  temperate  criticism  rather  than 
as  a  sweeping  condemnation. 


52  Dumas'  parts 

To  give  the  reader  an  idea  of  the  Dumas  of  1840, 
one  can  scarcely  do  better  than  present  his  portrait 
as  sketched  by  De  Villemessant,  the  founder  and 
brilHant  editor  of  the  Figaro,  when  Dumas  was  at 
the  height  of  his  glory,  and  a  grasp  of  his  hand 
was  better  than  a  touch  of  genius  to  those  receiv- 
ing it : 

**  At  no  time  and  among  no  people  had  it  till  then 
been  granted  to  a  writer  to  achieve  fame  in  every 
direction;  in  serious  drama  and  in  comedy,  and 
novels  of  adventure  and  of  domestic  interest,  in 
humourous  stories  and  in  pathetic  tales,  Alexandre 
Dumas  had  been  alike  successful.  The  frequenters 
of  the  Theatre  Frangais  owed  him  evenings  of 
delight,  but  so  did  the  general  public  as  well. 
Dumas  alone  had  had  the  power  to  touch,  interest, 
or  amuse,  not  only  Paris  or  France,  but  the  whole 
world.  If  all  other  novelists  had  been  swallowed 
up  in  an  earthquake,  this  one  would  have  been  able 
to  supply  the  leading  libraries  of  Europe.  If  all 
other  dramatists  had  died,  Alexandre  Dumas  could 
have  occupied  every  stage;  his  magic  name  on  a 
playbill  or  affixed  to  a  newspaper  feuilleton  en- 
sured the  sale  of  that  issue  or  a  full  house  at  the 
theatre.  He  was  king  of  the  stage,  prince  of  feuil- 
letonists, the  literary  man  par  excellence,  in  that 
Paris  then  so  full  of  intellect.     When  he  opened 


Dumas'  aitteratp  Career  53 

his  lips  the  most  eloquent  held  their  breath  to  listen ; 
when  he  entered  a  room  the  wit  of  man,  the  beauty 
of  woman,  the  pride  of  life,  grew  dim  in  the  ra- 
diance of  his  glory ;  he  reigned  over  Paris  in  right 
of  his  sovereign  intellect,  the  only  monarch  who 
for  an  entire  century  had  understood  how  to  draw 
to  himself  the  adoration  of  all  classes  of  society, 
from  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain  to  the  Batignolles. 

"  Just  as  he  united  in  himself  capabilities  of  many 
kinds,  so  he  displayed  in  his  person  the  perfection 
of  many  races.  From  the  negro  he  had  derived  the 
frizzled  hair  and  those  thick  lips  on  which  Europe 
had  laid  a  delicate  smile  of  ever-varying  meaning; 
from  the  southern  races  he  derived  his  vivacity  of 
gesture  and  speech,  from  the  northern  his  solid 
frame  and  broad  shoulders  and  a  figure  which, 
while  it  showed  no  lack  of  French  elegance,  was 
powerful  enough  to  have  made  green  with  envy 
the  gentlemen  of  the  Russian  Life-Guards." 

Dumas'  energy  and  output  were  tremendous,  as 
all  know.  It  is  recorded  that  on  one  occasion,  —  in 
the  later  years  of  his  life,  when,  as  was  but  natural, 
he  had  tired  somewhat,  —  after  a  day  at  la  chasse, 
he  withdrew  to  a  cottage  near  by  to  rest  until  the 
others  should  rejoin  him,  after  having  finished  their 
sport.  This  they  did  within  a  reasonably  short 
time,  —  whether  one  hour  or  two  is  not  stated  with 


54  Dumas'  parts 

definiteness,  —  when  they  found  him  sitting  before 
the  fire  "  twirhng  his  thumbs.''  On  being  interro- 
gated, he  repHed  that  he  had  not  been  sitting  there 
long;  in  fact,  he  had  just  written  the  iirst  act  of 
a  new  play. 

The  French  journal,  La  Revue,  tells  the  following 
incident,  which  sounds  new.  Some  years  before  his 
death,  Dumas  had  written  a  somewhat  quaint  letter 
to  Napoleon  III.,  apropos  of  a  play  which  had  been 
condemned  by  the  French  censor.  In  this  epistle 
he  commenced: 

"Sire:  —  In  1830,  and,  indeed,  even  to-day, 
there  are  three  men  at  the  head  of  French  literature. 
These  three  men  are  Victor  Hugo,  Lamartine,  and 
myself.  Although  I  am  the  least  of  the  three,  the 
five  continents  have  made  me  the  most  popular, 
probably  because  the  one  was  a  thinker,  the  other 
a  dreamer,  while  I  am  merely  a  writer  of  common- 
place tales." 

This  letter  goes  on  to  plead  the  cause  of  his 
play,  and  from  this  circumstance  the  censorship 
was  afterward  removed. 

A  story  is  told  of  an  incident  which  occurred 
at  a  rehearsal  of  "  Les  Trois  Mousquetaires  "  at  the 
"  Ambigu.''  This  story  is  strangely  reminiscent  of 
another  incident  which  happened  at  a  rehearsal  of 
Halevy's  "  Guido  et  Genevra,"  but  it  is  still  worth 


Bumas'  Xiterarp  Career  ss 

recounting  here,  if  only  to  emphasize  the  indom- 
itable energy  and  perspicacity  of  Dumas. 

It  appears  that  a  pompier  —  that  gaudy,  glisten- 
ing fireman  who  is  always  present  at  functions  of 
all  sorts  on  the  continent  of  Europe  —  who  was 
watching  the  rehearsal,  was  observed  by  Dumas  to 
suddenly  leave  his  point  of  vantage  and  retire. 
Dumas  followed  him  and  inquired  his  reason  for 
withdrawing.  "  What  made  you  go  away  ?  "  Dumas 
asked  of  him.  "  Because  that  last  act  did  not  in- 
terest me  so  much  as  the  others,"  was  the  answer. 
Whereupon  Dumas  sent  for  the  prompt-book  and 
threw  that  portion  relating  to  that  particular  tableau 
into  the  fire,  and  forthwith  set  about  to  rewrite  it 
on  the  spot.  "  It  does  not  amuse  the  pompier," 
said  Dumas,  "  but  I  know  what  it  wants."  An  hour 
and  a  half  later,  at  the  finish  of  the  rehearsal,  the 
actors  were  given  their  new  words  for  the  seventh 
tableau. 

In  spite  of  the  varied  success  with  which  his 
plays  met,  Dumas  was,  we  may  say,  first  of  all  a 
dramatist,  if  construction  of  plot  and  the  moving 
about  of  dashing  and  splendid  figures  counts  for 
anything;   and  it  most  assuredly  does. 

This  very  same  qualification  is  what  makes  the 
romances  so  vivid  and  thrilling;  and  they  do  not 
falter  either  in  accessory  or  fact. 


56  Dumas'  iPatia 

The  cloaks  of  his  swashbucklering  heroes  are 
always  the  correct  shade  of  scarlet;  their  rapiers, 
their  swords,  or  their  pistols  are  always  rightly 
tuned,  and  their  entrances  and  their  exits  correctly 
and  most  appropriately  timed. 

When  his  characters  represent  the  poverty  of  a 
tatterdemalion,  they  do  it  with  a  sincerity  that  is 
inimitable,  and  the  lusty  throatings  of  a  D'Artagnan 
are  never  a  hollow  mockery  of  something  they  are 
not. 

Dumas  drew  his  characters  of  the  stage  and  his 
personages  of  the  romances  with  the  brilliance  and 
assurance  of  a  Velasquez,  rather  than  with  the 
finesse  of  a  Praxiteles,  and  for  that  reason  they  live 
and  introduce  themselves  as  cosmopolitans,  and  are 
to  be  appreciated  only  as  one  studies  or  acquires 
something  of  the  spirit  from  which  they  have  been 
evolved. 

Of  Dumas'  own  uproarious  good  nature  many 
have  written.  Albert  Vandam  tells  of  a  certain 
occasion  when  he  went  to  call  upon  the  novelist 
at  St.  Germain,  —  and  he  reckoned  Dumas  the  most 
lovable  and  genial  among  all  of  his  host  of  ac- 
quaintances in  the  great  world  of  Paris,  —  that  he 
overheard,  as  he  was  entering  the  study,  "  a  loud 
burst  of  laughter."  "  I  had  sooner  wait  until  mon- 
sieur's visitors  are  gone,"  said  he.    "  Monsieur  has 


Dumas'  Xtterati^  Career  57 

no  visitors,"  said  the  servant.  "  Monsieur  often 
laughs  like  that  at  his  work." 

Dumas  as  a  man  of  affairs  or  as  a  politician  was 
not  the  success  that  he  was  in  the  world  of  letters. 
His  activities  were  great,  and  his  enthusiasm  for 
any  turn  of  affairs  with  which  he  allied  himself 
remarkable;  but,  whether  he  was  en  voyage  on  a 
whilom  political  mission,  at  work  as  "  Director  of 
Excavations  "  at  Pompeii,  or  founding  or  conduct- 
ing a  new  journal  or  a  new  playhouse,  his  talents 
were  manifestly  at  a  discount.  In  other  words,  he 
was  singularly  unfit  for  public  life;  he  was  not 
an  organizer,  nor  had  he  executive  ability,  though 
he  had  not  a  little  of  the  skill  of  prophecy  and  fore- 
sight as  to  many  turns  of  fortune's  wheel  with 
respect  to  world  power  and  the  comity  of  nations. 

Commenting  upon  the  political  state  of  Europe, 
he  said :  "  Geographically,  Prussia  has  the  form  of 
a  serpent,  and,  like  it,  she  appears  to  be  asleep,  in 
order  to  gain  strength  to  swallow  everything  around 
her."  All  of  his  prophecy  was  not  fulfilled,  to  be 
sure,  but  a  huge  slice  was  fed  into  her  maw  from 
out  of  the  body  of  France,  and,  looking  at  things 
at  a  time  fifty  years  ahead  of  that  of  which  Dumas 
wrote,  —  that  is,  before  the  Franco-Prussian  War, 
—  it  would  seem  as  though  the  serpent's  appetite 
was  still  unsatisfied. 


58  Dumas'  pads 

In  1847,  when  Dumas  took  upon  himself  to  wish 
for  a  seat  in  the  government,  he  besought  the  sup- 
port of  the  constituency  of  the  borough  in  which  he 
had  hved  —  St.  Germain.  But  St.  Germain  denied 
it  him  —  "  on  moral  grounds."  In  the  following 
year,  when  Louis-Philippe  had  abdicated,  he  made 
the  attempt  once  again. 

The  republican  constituency  of  Joigny  challenged 
him  with  respect  to  his  title  of  Marquis  de  la  Paille- 
terie,  and  his  having  been  a  secretary  in  the  Or- 
leans Bureau.  The  following  is  his  reply  —  verba- 
tim —  as  publicly  delivered  at  a  meeting  of  electors, 
and  is  given  here  as  illustrating  well  the  earnest- 
ness and  devotion  to  a  code  which  many  Puritan 
and  prudish  moralists  have  themselves  often  ig- 
nored : 

"  I  was  formerly  called  the  Marquis  de  la  Paille- 
terie,  no  doubt.  It  was  my  father's  name,  and  one 
of  which  I  was  very  proud,  being  then  unable  to 
claim  a  glorious  one  of  my  own  make.  But  at 
present,  when  I  am  somebody,  I  call  myself  Alex- 
andre Dumas,  and  nothing  more;  and  every  one 
knows  me,  yourselves  among  the  rest  —  you,  you 
absolute  nobodies,  who  have  come  here  merely  to 
boast,  to-morrow,  after  having  given  me  insult  to- 
night, that  you  have  known  the  great  Dumas.  If 
§uch  were  your  avowed  ambition,  you  could  have 


Dumas'  OLitcrarp  Career  59 

satisfied  it  without  having  failed  in  the  common 
courtesies  of  gentlemen.  There  is  no  doubt,  either, 
about  my  having  been  a  secretary  to  the  Due 
d'Orleans,  and  that  I  have  received  many  favours 
from  his  family.  If  you  are  ignorant  of  the  mean- 
ing of  the  phrase,  *  The  memories  of  the  heart,' 
allow  me,  at  least,  to  proclaim  loudly  that  I  am  not, 
and  that  I  entertain  toward  this  family  of  royal 
blood  all  the  devotion  of  an  honourable  man." 

That  Dumas  was  ever  accused  of  making  use  of 
the  work  of  others,  of  borrowing  ideas  wherever  he 
found  them,  and,  indeed,  of  plagiarism  itself,  — 
which  is  the  worst  of  all,  —  has  been  mentioned 
before,  and  the  argument  for  or  against  is  not  in- 
tended to  be  continued  here. 

Dumas  himself  has  said  much  upon  the  subject 
in  defence  of  his  position,  and  the  contemporary 
scribblers  of  the  time  have  likewise  had  their  say 
—  and  it  was  not  brief;  but  of  all  that  has  been 
written  and  said,  the  following  is  pertinent  and 
deliciously  naive,  and,  coming  from  Dumas  himself, 
has  value: 

"  One  morning  I  had  only  just  opened  my  eyes 
when  my  servant  entered  my  bedroom  and  brought 
me  a  letter  upon  which  was  written  the  word  urgent. 
He  drew  back  the  curtains;   the  weather  —  doubt 


6o  2)uma0'  lPari0 

less  by  some  mistake  —  was  fine,  and  the  brilliant 
sunshine  entered  the  rcK)m  like  a  conqueror.  I 
rubbed  my  eyes  and  looked  at  the  letter  to  see  who 
had  sent  it,  astonished  at  the  same  time  that  there 
should  be  only  one.  The  handwriting  was  quite 
unknown  to  me.  Having  turned  it  over  and  over 
for  a  minute  or  two,  trying  to  guess  whose  the 
writing  was,  I  opened  it  and  this  is  what  I  found : 

"  *  Sir  :  —  I  have  read  your  "  Three  Musketeers," 
being  well  to  do,  and  having  plenty  of  spare  time 
on  my  hands  —  * 

"(*  Lucky  fellow!'  said  I;  and  I  continued 
reading. ) 

"  *  I  admit  that  I  found  it  fairly  amusing ;  but, 
having  plenty  of  time  before  me,  I  was  curious 
enough  to  wish  to  know  if  you  really  did  find  them 
in  the  "  Memoirs  of  M.  de  La  Fere."  As  I  was 
living  in  Carcassonne,  I  wrote  to  one  of  my  friends 
in  Paris  to  go  to  the  Bibliotheque  Royale,  and  ask 
for  these  memoirs,  and  to  write  and  let  me  know 
if  you  had  really  and  truly  borrowed  your  facts 
from  them.  My  friend,  whom  I  can  trust,  replied 
that  you  had  copied  them  word  for  word,  and  that 
it  is  what  you  authors  always  do.  So  I  give  you 
fair  notice,  sir,  that  I  have  told  people  all  about  it 


Dumas'  Xlterarp  Career  6i 

at  Carcassonne,  and,  if  it  occurs  again,  we  shall 
cease  subscribing  to  the  Siecle. 

"  *  Yours  sincerely, 


"I  rang  the  bell. 

" '  If  any  more  letters  come  for  me  to-day,'  said 
I  to  the  servant,  *  you  will  keep  them  back,  and  only 
give  them  to  me  sometime  when  I  seem  a  bit  too 
happy/ 

"  *  Manuscripts  as  well,  sir  ? ' 

"  '  Why  do  you  ask  that  question  ?  ' 

"  *  Because  some  one  has  brought  one  this  very 
moment/ 

"  *  Good !  that  is  the  last  straw !  Put  it  some- 
where where  it  won't  be  lost,  but  don't  tell  me 
where.' 

"  He  put  it  on  the  mantelpiece,  which  proved  that 
my  servant  was  decidedly  a  man  of  intelligence. 

"  It  was  half-past  ten ;  I  went  to  the  window.  As 
I  have  said,  it  was  a  beautiful  day.  It  appeared  as 
if  the  sun  had  won  a  permanent  victory  over  the 
clouds.  The  passers-by  all  looked  happy,  or,  at 
least,  contented. 

"  Like  everybody  else,  I  experienced  a  desire  to 
take  the  air  elsewhere  than  at  my  window,  so  I 
dressed,  and  went  out. 

"  As  chance  would  have  it  —  for  when  I  go  out 


62  Dumas'  parts 

for  a  walk  I  don't  care  whether  it  is  in  one  street 
or  another  —  as  chance  would  have  it,  I  say,  I 
passed  the  Bibliotheque  Royale. 

"  I  went  in,  and,  as  usual,  found  Paris,  who  came 
up  to  me  with  a  charming  smile. 

"  *  Give  me,'  said  I,  '  the  "  Memoirs  of  La  Fere."  ' 

"  He  looked  at  me  for  a  moment  as  if  he  thought 
I  was  crazy;  then,  with  the  utmost  gravity,  he 
said,  *  You  know  very  well  they  don't  exist,  because 
you  said  yourself  they  did ! ' 

"  His  speech,  though  brief,  was  decidedly  pithy. 

"  By  way  of  thanks  I  made  Paris  a  gift  of  the 
autograph  I  had  received  from  Carcassonne. 

"  When  he  had  finished  reading  it,  he  said,  *  If 
it  is  any  consolation  to  you  to  know  it,  you  are  not 
the  first  who  has  come  to  ask  for  the  "  Memoirs  of 
La  Fere  " ;  I  have  already  seen  at  least  thirty  people 
who  came  solely  for  that  purpose,  and  no  doubt 
they  hate  you  for  sending  them  on  a  fool's  errand.' 

"  As  I  was  in  search  of  material  for  a  novel,  and 
as  there  are  people  who  declare  novels  are  to  be 
found  ready-made,  I  asked  for  the  catalogue. 

"  Of  course,  I  did  not  discover  anything." 

Every  one  knows  of  Dumas'  great  fame  as  a 
gastronome  and  epicure;  some  recall,  also,  that  he 
himself  was  a  cuisinier  of  no  mean  abilities.    How 


H)umas'  Xiterari?  Careet  63 

far  his  capacities  went  in  this  direction,  and  how 
wide  was  his  knowledge  of  the  subject,  can  only  be 
gleaned  by  a  careful  reading  of  his  great  "  Diction- 
naire  de  Cuisine."  Still  further  into  the  subject 
he  may  be  supposed  to  have  gone  from  the  fact  that 
he  also  published  an  inquiry,  or  an  open  letter, 
addressed  to  the  gourmands  of  all  countries,  on  the 
subject  of  mustard. 

It  is  an  interesting  subject,  to  be  sure,  but  a  tri- 
fling one  for  one  of  the  world's  greatest  writers  to 
spend  his  time  upon ;  say  you,  dear  reader  ?  Well ! 
perhaps !  But  it  is  a  most  fascinating  contribution  to 
the  literature  of  epicurism,  and  quite  worth  looking 
up  and  into.  The  history  of  the  subtle  spice  is 
traced  down  through  Biblical  and  Roman  times  to 
our  own  day,  chronologically,  etymologically,  bo- 
tanically,  and  practically.  It  will  be,  and  doubtless 
has  been,  useful  to  other  compilers  of  essays  on  good 
cheer. 

Whatever  may  be  the  subtle  abilities  which  make 
the  true  romancer,  or  rather  those  which  make  his 
romances  things  of  life  and  blood,  they  were  pos- 
sessed by  Alexandre  Dumas. 

Perhaps  it  is  the  more  easy  to  construct  a  ro- 
mantic play  than  it  is  to  erect,  from  matter-of-fact 
components,  a  really  engrossing  romantic  novel. 
Dumas'  abilities  seem  to  fit  in  with  both  varieties 


6d  Dumas'  pads 

alike,  and  if  he  did  build  to  order,  the  result  was 
in  most  cases  no  less  successful  than  if  evolved 
laboriously. 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  many  serial  contributions 
—  if  we  are  to  believe  the  literary  gossip  of  the 
time  —  are  only  produced  as  the  printer  is  waiting 
for  copy.  The  formula  is  manifestly  not  a  good 
one  upon  which  to  build,  but  it  has  been  done,  and 
successfully,  by  more  writers  than  one,  and  with 
scarce  a  gap  unbridged. 

Dickens  did  it,  —  if  it  is  allowable  to  mention 
him  here,  —  and  Dumas  himself  did  it,  —  many 
times,  —  and  with  a  wonderful  and,  one  may  say, 
inspired  facility,  but  then  his  facility,  none  the  less 
than  his  vitality,  made  possible  much  that  was  not 
granted  to  the  laborious  Zola. 

Dumas  was  untiring  to  the  very  last.  His  was  a 
case  of  being  literally  worked  out  —  not  worked  to 
death,  which  is  quite  a  different  thing. 

It  has  been  said  by  Dumas  His  that  in  the  latter 
years  of  the  elder's  life  he  would  sit  for  length  upon 
length  of  time,  pen  in  hand,  and  not  a  word  would 
flow  therefrom,  ere  the  ink  had  dried. 

An  interesting  article  on  Dumas'  last  days  ap- 
peared in  La  Revue  in  1903.  It  dealt  with  the  sad- 
ness and  disappointments  of  Dumas'  later  days,  in 
spite  of  which  the  impression  conveyed  of  the  great 


Dumas'  Xitctar^  Career  65 

novelist's  personality  is  very  vivid,  and  he  emerges 
from  it  much  as  his  books  would  lead  one  to  expect 
—  a  hearty,  vigorous  creature,  surcharged  with 
vitality,  with  desire  to  live  and  let  live,  a  man 
possessed  of  almost  equally  prominent  faults  and 
virtues,  and  generous  to  a  fault. 

Money  he  had  never  been  able  to  keep.  He  had 
said  himself,  at  a  time  when  he  was  earning  a  for- 
tune, "  I  can  keep  everything  but  money.  Money 
unfortunately  always  slips  through  my  fingers." 
The  close  of  his  life  was  a  horrible  struggle  to  make 
ends  meet.  When  matters  came  to  a  crisis  Dumas 
would  pawn  some  of  the  valuable  oh  jets  d'art  he  had 
collected  in  the  opulent  past,  or  ask  his  son  for 
assistance.  But,  though  the  sum  asked  was  always 
given,  there  were  probably  few  things  which  the 
old  man  would  not  have  preferred  to  this  appeal 
to  the  younger  author. 

As  he  grew  old,  Dumas  pere  became  almost 
timid  in  his  attitude  toward  the  son,  whose  disap- 
proval had  frequently  found  expression  in  advice 
and  warning.  But  Dumas  could  not  settle  down, 
and  he  could  not  become  careful.  Neither  of  these 
things  was  in  his  nature,  and  there  was  conse- 
quently always  some  little  undercurrent  of  friction 
between  them.  To  the  end  of  his  days  his  money 
was  anybody's  who  liked  to  come  and  ask  for  it, 


66  Dumas'  Paris 

and  nothing  but  the  final  clouding  of  his  intellectual 
capacity  could  reduce  his  optimism.  Then,  it  is 
true,  he  fell  into  a  state  of  sustained  depression. 
The  idea  that  his  reputation  would  not  last  haunted 
him. 

In  1870,  when  Dumas  was  already  very  ill,  his 
son,  anxious  that  he  should  not  be  in  Paris  during 
its  investment  by  the  Germans,  took  him  to  a  house 
he  had  at  Puys,  near  Dieppe.  Here  the  great  man 
rapidly  sank,  and,  except  at  meal-times,  passed  his 
time  in  a  state  of  heavy  sleep,  until  a  sudden  attack 
of  apoplexy  finally  seized  him.  He  never  rallied 
after  it,  and  died  upon  the  day  the  Prussian  soldiers 
took  possession  of  Dieppe. 

Many  stories  are  rife  of  Dumas  the  prodigal. 
Some  doubtless  are  true,  many  are  not.  Those 
which  he  fathers  himself,  we  might  well  accept  as 
being  true.     Surely  he  himself  should  know. 

The  following  incident  which  happened  in  the 
last  days  of  his  life  certainly  has  the  ring  of  truth 
about  it. 

When  in  his  last  illness  he  left  Paris  for  his 
son's  country  house  near  Dieppe,  he  had  but  twenty 
francs,  the  total  fortune  of  the  man  who  had  earned 
millions. 

On  arriving  at  Puys,  Dumas  placed  the  coin  on 


Dumas'  Xtterarp  Career  67 

his  bedroom  chimneypiece,  and  there  it  remained  all 
through  his  illness. 

One  day  he  was  seated  in  his  chair  near  the 
window,  chatting  with  his  son,  when  his  eye  fell 
on  the  gold  piece. 

A  recollection  of  the  past  crossed  his  mind. 

"  Fifty  years  ago,  when  I  went  to  Paris,"  he 
said,  "  I  had  a  louis.  Why  have  people  accused 
me  of  prodigality?  I  have  always  kept  that  louis. 
See  —  there  it  is." 

And  he  showed  his  son  the  coin,  smiling  feebly 
as  he  did  so. 


CHAPTER   IV. 


DUMAS     CONTEMPORARIES 


^MONG  those  of  the  world's  great  names 
y1  in  literature  contemporary  with  Dumas, 
but  who  knew  Paris  ere  he  first  descended 
upon  it  to  try  his  fortune  in  its  arena  of  letters, 
were  Lamartine,  who  already,  in  1820,  had  charmed 
his  public  with  his  "  Meditations ; "  Hugo,  who 
could  claim  but  twenty  years  himself,  but  who  had 
already  sung  his  "  Odes  et  Ballades,'*  and  Chateau- 
briand. 

Soulie  and  De  Vigny  won  their  fame  with  poems 
and  plays  in  the  early  twenties,  De  Musset  and 
Chenier  followed  before  a  decade  had  passed,  and 
Gautier  was  still  serving  his  apprenticeship. 

It  was  the  proud  Goethe  who  said  of  these  young 
men  of  the  twenties,  "  They  all  come  from  Chateau- 
briand." Beranger,  too,  "  the  little  man,"  even 
though  he  was  drawing  on  toward  the  prime  of 

life,  was  also  singing  melodiously :  it  was  his  chan- 

68 


Bumas'  Contemporaries  69 

sons,  it  is  said,  that  upset  the  Bourbon  throne  and 
made  way  for  the  "  citizen-king."  Nodier,  of 
fanciful  and  fantastic  rhyme,  was  already  at  work, 
and  Merimee  had  not  yet  taken  up  the  administra- 
tive duties  of  overseeing  the  preserving  process 
which  at  his  instigation  was,  at  the  hands  of  a 
paternal  government,  being  applied  to  the  historical 
architectural  monuments  throughout  France;  a 
glory  which  it  is  to  be  feared  has  never  been  wholly 
granted  to  Merimee,  as  was  his  due. 

Guizot,  the  bete  noire  of  the  later  Louis-Philippe, 
was  actively  writing  from  1825  to  1830,  and  his 
antagonist,  Thiers,  was  at  the  same  period  pro- 
ducing what  Carlyle  called  the  "  voluminous  and 
untrustworthy  labours  of  a  brisk  little  man  in  his 
way;  "  which  recalls  to  mind  the  fact  that  Carlylean 
rant  —  like  most  of  his  prose  —  is  a  well-nigh  in- 
sufferable thing. 

At  this  time  Mignet,  the  historian,  was  hard  at 
work,  and  St.  Beauve  had  just  deserted  materia 
medica  for  literature.  Michelet's  juvenile  histories 
were  a  production  of  the  time,  while  poor,  un- 
honoured,  and  then  unsung,  Balzac  was  grinding 
out  his  pittance  —  in  after  years  to  grow  into  a 
monumental  literary  legacy  —  in  a  garret. 

Eugene  Sue  had  not  yet  taken  to  literary  path- 
ways, and  was  scouring  the  seas  as  a  naval  surgeon. 


70  Dumas'  Paris 

The  drama  was  prolific  in  names  which  we 
have  since  known  as  masters,  Scribe,  Halevy,  and 
others. 

George  Sand,  too,  was  just  beginning  that  grand 
literary  life  which  opened  with  "  Indiana  "  in  1832, 
and  lasted  until  1876.  She,  like  so  many  of  the 
great,  whose  name  and  fame,  like  Dumas'  own,  has 
been  perpetuated  by  a  monument  in  stone,  the 
statue  which  was  unveiled  in  the  little  town  of  her 
birth  on  the  Indre,  La  Chatre,  in  1903. 

Like  Dumas,  too,  hers  was  a  cyclopean  industry, 
and  so  it  followed  that  in  the  present  twentieth 
century  (in  the  year  1904),  another  and  a  more 
glorious  memorial  to  France's  greatest  woman 
writer  was  unveiled  in  the  Garden  of  the  Luxem- 
bourg. 

Among  the  women  famous  in  the  monde  of  Paris 
at  the  time  of  Dumas'  arrival  were  Mesdames 
Desbordes-Valmore,  Amable  Tastu,  and  Delphine 
Gay. 

"  For  more  than  half  a  century  this  brilliant 
group  of  men  and  women  sustained  the  world  of 
ideas  and  poetry,"  said  Dumas,  in  his  "  Memoires," 
"  and  I,  too,"  he  continued,  "  have  reached  the 
same  plane  .  .  .  unaided  by  intrigue  or  coterie,  and 
using  none  other  than  my  own  work  as  the  stepping- 
stone  in  my  pathway." 


2)ttma6^  (Tontemporarlcs  7^ 

Dumas  cannot  be  said  to  have  been  niggardly 
with  his  praise  of  the  work  of  others.  He  said  of 
a  sonnet  of  Arnauh's  —  "  La  Feuille  "  —  that  it 
was  a  masterpiece  which  an  Andre  Chenier,  a 
Lamartine,  or  a  Hugo  might  have  envied,  and  that 
for  himself,  not  knowing  what  his  "  literary 
brothers  "  might  have  done,  he  would  have  given 
for  it  *'  any  one  of  his  dramas/' 

It  was  into  the  office  of  Arnault,  who  was  chief 
of  a  department  in  the  Universite,  that  Beranger 
took  up  his  labours  as  a  copying-clerk,  —  as  did 
Dumas  in  later  years,  —  and  it  was  while  here  that 
Beranger  produced  his  first  ballad,  the  "  Roi 
d'Yvetot." 

In  185 1  Millet  was  at  his  height,  if  one  con- 
siders what  he  had  already  achieved  by  his  "  great 
agrarian  poems,"  as  they  have  been  called.  Gautier 
called  them  "  Georgics  in  paint,"  and  such  they 
undoubtedly  were.  Millet  would  hardly  be  called 
a  Parisian;  he  was  not  of  the  life  of  the  city,  but 
rather  of  that  of  the  countryside,  by  his  having 
settled  down  at  Barbizon  in  1849,  ^^^  practically 
never  left  it  except  to  go  to  Paris  on  business. 

His  life  has  been  referred  to  as  one  of  "  sublime 
monotony,"  but  it  was  hardly  that.  It  was  a  life 
devoted  to  the  telling  of  a  splendid  story,  that  of 


72  Dumas'  parts 

the  land  as  contrasted  with  that  of  the  paved  city 
streets. 

Corot  was  a  real  Parisian,  and  it  was  only  in  his 
early  life  in  the  provinces  that  he  felt  the  bitterness 
of  life  and  longed  for  the  flagstones  of  the  quais, 
for  the  Tuileries,  the  Seine,  and  his  beloved  Rue  de 
Bac,  where  he  was  born  on  loth  Thermidor, 
Year  IV.  (July  28,  1796).  Corot  early  took  to 
painting  the  scenes  of  the  metropolis,  as  we  learn 
from  his  biography,  notably  at  the  point  along  the 
river  bank  where  the  London  steamer  moors  to-day. 
But  these  have  disappeared;  few  or  none  of  his 
juvenile  efforts  have  come  down  to  us. 

Corot  returned  to  Paris,  after  many  years  spent 
in  Rome,  during  the  reign  of  Louis-Philippe,  when 
affairs  were  beginning  to  stir  themselves  in  liter- 
ature and  art.  In  1839  his  "  Site  d'ltalie  "  and  a 
"  Soir  "  were  shown  at  the  annual  Salon,  —  though, 
of  course,  he  had  already  been  an  exhibitor  there, 
—  and  inspired  a  sonnet  of  Theophile  Gautier, 
which  concludes: 

«  Corot,  ton  nom  modest,  ^crit  dans  un  coin  noir." 

Corot's  pictures  were  unfortunately  hung  in  the 
darkest  corners  —  for  fifteen  years.  As  he  himself 
has  said,  it  was  as  if  he  were  in  the  catacombs. 


Dumas'  Contempotartes  73 

In  1855  Corot  figured  as  one  of  the  thirty-four 
judges  appointed  by  Napoleon  III.  to  make  the 
awards  for  paintings  exhibited  in  the  world's  first 
Universal  Exhibition.  It  is  not  remarked  that 
Corot  had  any  acquaintance  or  friendships  with 
Dumas  or  with  Victor  Hugo,  of  whom  he  remarked, 
"  This  Victor  Hugo  seems  to  be  pretty  famous  in 
literature."  He  knew  little  of  his  contemporaries, 
and  the  hurly-burly  knew  less  of  him.  He  was 
devoted,  however,  to  the  genius  of  his  superiors  — 
as  he  doubtless  thought  them.  Of  Delacroix  he  said 
one  day,  "  He  is  an  eagle,  and  I  am  only  a  lark 
singing  little  songs  in  gray  clouds." 

A  literary  event  of  prime  importance  during  the 
latter  years  of  Dumas*  life  in  Paris,  when  his  own 
purse  was  growing  thin,  was  the  publication  of  the 
"  Histoire  de  Jules  Cesar,"  written  by  Napo- 
leon III. 

Nobody  ever  seems  to  have  taken  the  second 
emperor  seriously  in  any  of  his  finer  expressions  of 
sentiment,  and,  as  may  be  supposed,  the  publication 
of  this  immortal  literary  effort  was  the  occasion 
of  much  sarcasm,  banter,  violent  philippic,  and 
sardonic  criticism. 

Possibly  the  world  was  not  waiting  for  this  work, 
but  royalty,  no  less  than  other  great  men,  have 
their  hobbies  and  their  fads;  Nero  fiddled,  and  the 


74  2)umas'  Paris 

first  Napoleon  read  novels  and  threw  them  forth- 
with out  of  the  carriage  window,  so  it  was  quite 
permissible  that  Napoleon  III.  should  have  perpet- 
uated this  life  history  of  an  emperor  whom  he  may 
justly  and  truly  have  admired  —  perhaps  envied,  in 
a  sort  of  impossible  way. 

Already  Louis  Napoleon's  collection  of  writings 
was  rather  voluminous,  so  this  came  as  no  great 
surprise,  and  his  literary  reputation  was  really 
greater  than  that  which  had  come  to  him  since 
fate  made  him  the  master  of  one  of  the  foremost 
nations  of  Europe. 

From  his  critics  we  learn  that  "  he  lacked  the 
grace  of  a  popular  author;  that  he  was  quite  in- 
capable of  interesting  the  reader  by  a  charm  of 
manner;  and  that  his  style  was  meagre,  harsh,  and 
grating,  but  epigrammatic."  No  Frenchman  could 
possibly  be  otherwise. 

Dumas  relates,  again,  the  story  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott's  visit  to  Paris,  seeking  documents  which 
should  bear  upon  the  reign  of  Napoleon.  Dining 
with  friends  one  evening,  he  was  invited  the  next 
day  to  dine  with  Barras.  But  Scott  shook  his  head. 
"  I  cannot  dine  with  that  man,"  he  replied.  "  I 
shall  write  evil  of  him,  and  people  in  Scotland 
would  say  that  I  have  flung  the  dishes  from  his 
own  table  at  his  head." 


2)uma5'  Contemporaries  75 

It  is  not  recorded  that  Dumas'  knowledge  of 
swordsmanship  was  based  on  practical  experience, 
but  certainly  no  more  scientific  sword-play  of  passe 
and  touche  has  been  put  into  words  than  that  won- 
derful attack  and  counter-attack  in  the  opening 
pages  of  "Les  Trois  Mousquetaires." 

Of  the  duel  d'honneur  there  is  less  to  be  said, 
though  Dumas  more  than  once  sought  to  reconcile 
estranged  and  impetuous  spirits  who  would  have 
run  each  other  through,  either  by  leaden  bullet  or  the 
sword.  A  notable  instance  of  this  was  in  the  mem- 
orable affaire  between  Louis  Blanc  of  UHomme- 
Lihre  and  Dujarrier-Beauvallon  of  La  Presse.  The 
latter  told  Dumas  that  he  had  no  alternative  but 
to  fight,  though  he  went  like  a  lamb  to  the  slaughter, 
and  had  no  knowledge  of  the  code  nor  any  skill 
with  weapons. 

Dumas  pere  was  implored  by  the  younger  Dumas 
—  both  of  whom  took  Dujarrier*s  interests  much 
to  heart  —  to  go  and  see  Grisier  and  claim  his 
intervention.  "  I  cannot  do  it,"  said  the  elder  ; 
"  the  first  and  foremost  thing  to  do  is  to  safeguard 
his  reputation,  which  is  the  more  precious  because 
it  is  his  first  duel."  The  Grisier  referred  to  was  the 
great  master  of  fence  of  the  time  who  was  immor- 
talized by  Dumas  in  his  "  Maitre  d*Armes." 

Dumas  himself  is  acknowledged,  however,  on  one 


76  Dumas'  parts 

occasion,  at  least,  to  have  acted  as  second  —  co- 
jointly  with  General  Fleury  —  in  an  affaire  which, 
happily,  never  came  off. 

It  was  this  Blanc-Dujarrier  duel  which  brought 
into  further  prominent  notice  that  most  remarkable 
and  quasi-wonderful  woman,  Lola  Montez;  that 
daughter  of  a  Spaniard  and  a  Creole,  a  native  of 
Limerick,  pupil  of  a  boarding-school  at  Bath,  and 
one-time  resident  of  Seville ;  to  which  may  be  added, 
on  the  account  of  Lord  Malmesbury,  "  The  woman 
who  in  Munich  set  fire  to  the  magazine  of  revolution 
which  was  ready  to  burst  forth  all  over  Europe." 

She  herself  said  that  she  had  also  lived  in  Cal- 
cutta as  the  wife  of  an  officer  in  the  employ  of 
the  East  India  Company;  had  at  one  time  been 
reduced  to  singing  in  the  streets  at  Brussels;  had 
danced  at  the  Italian  Opera  in  London,  — "  not 
much,  but  as  well  as  half  the  ugly  wooden  women 
who  were  there,"  —  and  had  failed  as  a  dancer  in 
Warsaw. 

"  This  illiterate  schemer,"  says  Vandam,  "  who 
probably  knew  nothing  of  geography  or  history,  had 
pretty  well  the  Almanach  de  Gotha  by  heart." 
"  Why  did  I  not  come  earlier  to  Paris  ?  "  she  once 
said.  "  What  was  the  good  ?  There  was  a  king 
there  bourgeois  to  his  finger-nails,  tight-fisted  be- 


H)uma6'  dontemporaries  77 

sides,  and  notoriously  the  most  moral  and  the  best 
father  in  all  the  world." 

This  woman,  it  seems,  was  a  beneficiary  in  the 
testament  of  Dujarrier,  who  died  as  a  result  of  his 
duel,  to  the  extent  of  eighteen  shares  in  the  Theatre 
du  Palais  Royal,  and  in  the  trial  which  followed 
at  Rouen,  at  which  were  present  all  shades  and 
degrees  of  literary  and  professional  people,  Dumas, 
Gustave  Flaubert,  and  others,  she  insisted  upon 
appearing  as  a  witness,  for  no  reason  whatever, 
apparently,  than  that  of  further  notoriety.  "  Six 
months  from  this  time,"  as  one  learns  from  Van- 
dam,  "  her  name  was  almost  forgotten  by  all  of  us 
except  Alexandre  Dumas,  who  once  and  again  al- 
luded to  her."  "  Though  far  from  superstitious, 
Dumas,  who  had  been  as  much  smitten  with  her  as 
most  of  her  admirers,  avowed  that  he  was  glad 
that  she  had  disappeared.  *  She  has  the  evil  eye,' 
said  he,  *  and  is  sure  to  bring  bad  luck  to  any  one 
who  closely  links  his  destiny  with  hers.'  " 

There  is  no  question  but  that  Dumas  was  right, 
for  she  afterward  —  to  mention  but  two  instances 
of  her  remarkably  active  career  —  brought  disaster 
"  most  unkind  "  upon  Louis  I.  of  Bavaria ;  com- 
mitted bigamy  with  an  English  officer  who  was 
drowned  at  Lisbon;   and,  whether  in  the  guise  of 


78  Dumas'  Paris 

lovers  or  husbands,  all,  truly,  who  became  connected 
with  her  met  with  almost  immediate  disaster. 

The  mere  mention  of  Lola  Montez  brings  to  mind 
another  woman  of  the  same  category,  though  differ- 
ent in  character,  Alphonsine  Plessis,  more  popularly 
known  as  La  Dame  aux  Camelias.  She  died  in 
1847,  ^^^  ^^^  name  was  not  Marie  or  Marguerite 
Duplessis,  but  as  above  written. 

Dumas  His  in  his  play  did  not  idealize  Alphonsine 
Plessis*  character;  indeed,  Dumas  pire  said  that  he 
did  not  even  enlarge  or  exaggerate  any  incident  — 
all  of  which  was  common  property  in  the  demi- 
monde —  "  save  that  he  ascribed  her  death  to  any 
cause  but  the  right  one."  "  I  know  he  made  use 
of  it,"  said  the  father,  "  but  he  showed  the  malady 
aggravated  by  Duval's  desertion." 

We  learn  that  the  elder  Dumas  "wept  like  a 
baby"  over  the  reading  of  his  son's  play.  But 
his  tears  did  not  drown  his  critical  faculty.  "  At 
the  beginning  of  the  third  act,"  said  Dumas  p^re, 
"  I  was  wondering  how  Alexandre  would  get  his 
Marguerite  back  to  town,  .  .  .  but  the  way  Alex- 
andre got  out  of  the  difficulty  proves  that  he  is 
my  son,  every  inch  of  him,  and  at  the  very  outset 
of  his  career  he  is  a  better  dramatist  than  I  am 
ever  likely  to  be." 

"  Alphonsine  Plessis  was  decidedly  a  real  per- 


Dumas*  ContemppratiCB  79 

sonage,  but  not  an  ordinary  one  in  her  walk  of 
life,"  said  Doctor  Veron.  "  A  woman  of  her  re- 
finement might  not  have  been  impossible  in  a  former 
day,  because  the  grisette  —  and  subsequently  the 
femme  entretenue  —  was  not  then  even  surmised. 
She  interests  me  much;  she  is  the  best  dressed 
woman  in  Paris,  she  neither  conceals  nor  hides  her 
vices,  and  she  does  not  continually  hint  about 
money;    in  short,  she  is  wonderful." 

"  La  Dame  aux  Camelias  "  appeared  within  eight- 
een months  of  the  actual  death  of  the  heroine,  and 
went  into  every  one's  hands,  interest  being  whetted 
meanwhile  by  the  recent  event,  and  yet  more  by  much 
gossip  —  scandal  if  you  will  —  which  universally 
appeared  in  the  Paris  press.  Her  pedigree  was 
evolved  and  diagnosed  by  Count  G.  de  Contades 
in  a  French  bibliographical  journal,  Le  Livre,  which 
showed  that  she  was  descended  from  a  "  guenuche- 
tonne"  (slattern)  of  Longe,  in  the  canton  of 
Brionze,  near  Alengon;  a  predilection  which  the 
elder  Dumas  himself  had  previously  put  forth  when 
he  stated  that,  "  I  am  certain  that  one  might  find 
taint  either  on  the  father's  side,  or  on  the  mother's, 
probably  on  the  former's,  but  more  probably  still 
on  both." 

The  following  eulogy,  extracted  from  a  letter 
written  to  Dumas  His  by  Victor  Hugo  upon  the 


8o  Dumas'  parts 

occasion  of  the  inhumation  of  the  ashes  of  Alex- 
andre Dumas  at  Villers-Cotterets,  whither  they  were 
removed  from  Puits,  shows  plainly  the  esteem  in 
which  his  literary  abilities  were  held  by  the  more 
sober-minded  of  his  compeers : 

"  MoN  CHER  Confrere  :  —  I  learn  from  the 
papers  of  the  funeral  of  Alexandre  Dumas  at  Vil- 
lers-Cotterets. ...  It  is  with  regret  that  I  am  un- 
able to  attend.  .  .  .  But  I  am  with  you  in  my  heart. 
.  .  .  What  I  would  say,  let  me  write.  .  .  .  No 
popularity  of  the  past  century  has  equalled  that  of 
Alexandre  Dumas.  His  successes  were  more  than 
successes:  they  were  triumphs.  .  .  .  The  name  of 
Alexandre  Dumas  is  more  than  *  Frangais,  il  est 
Europeen ; '  and  it  is  more  than  European,  it  is 
universal.  His  theatre  has  been  given  publicity  in 
all  lands,  and  his  romances  have  been  translated 
into  all  tongues.  Alexandre  Dumas  was  one  of 
those  men  we  can  call  the  sowers  of  civilization.  .  .  . 
Alexandre  Dumas  is  seducing,  fascinating,  interest- 
ing, amusing,  and  informing.  ...  All  the  emo- 
tions, the  most  pathetic,  all  the  irony,  all  the  comedy, 
all  the  analysis  of  romance,  and  all  the  intuition 
of  history  are  found  in  the  supreme  works  con- 
structed by  this  great  and  vigorous  architect. 

"...  His  spirit  was  capable  of  all  the  miracles 


2)uma0'  Contemporaries  Si 

he  performed;  this  he  bequeathed  and  this  sur- 
vives. .  .  .  Your  renown  but  continues  his  glory. 

"...  Your  father  and  I  were  young  together. 
.  .  .  He  was  a  grand  and  good  friend.  ...  I  had 
not  seen  him  since  1857.  .  .  .  As  I  entered  Paris 
Alexandre  Dumas  was  leaving.  I  did  not  have 
even  a  parting  shake  of  the  hand. 

"  The  visit  which  he  made  me  in  my  exile  I  will 
some  day  return  to  his  tomb. 

*'  Cher  confrere,  His  de  mon  ami,  je  vous  em- 
brasse.  Victor  Hugo." 

Of  Dumas,  Charles  Reade  said :  "  He  has  never 
been  properly  appreciated;  he  is  the  prince  of 
dramatists,  the  king  of  romancists,  and  the  emperor 
of  good  fellows." 

Dumas  £ls  he  thought  a  "  vinegar-blooded  icon- 
oclast—  shrewd,  clever,  audacious,  introspective, 
and  mathematically  logical." 

The  Cimetiere  du  Pere  La  Chaise  has  a  contem- 
porary interest  with  the  names  of  many  who  were 
contemporaries  of  Dumas  in  the  life  and  letters 
of  his  day. 

Of  course,  sentimental  interest  first  attaches  itself 
to  the  Gothic  canopy  —  built  from  the  fragments 
of  the  convent  of  Paraclet  —  which  enshrines  the 


82  Dumas'  parts 

remains  of  Abelard  and  Heloise  (1142 — 64),  and 
this  perhaps  is  as  it  should  be,  but  for  those  who 
are  conversant  with  the  life  of  Paris  of  Dumas* 
day,  this  most  "  famous  resting-place "  has  far 
more  interest  because  of  its  shelter  given  to  so  many 
of  Dumas'  contemporaries  and  friends. 

Scribe,  who  was  buried  here  186 1 ;  Michelet,  d. 
1874;  Delphine  Cambaceres,  1867;  Lacham- 
beaudie,  1872;  Soulie,  1847;  Balzac,  1850;  Ch. 
Nodier,  1844;  C.  Delavigne,  1843;  Delacroix,  the 
painter,  1865;  Talma,  the  tragedian,  1826;  Boiel- 
dieu,  the  composer,  1834;  Chopin,  1849;  Herold, 
1833;  General  Foy,  1825;  David  d' Angers,  1856; 
Hugo,  1828  (the  father  of  Victor  Hugo) ;  David, 
the  painter,  1825;  Alfred  de  Musset,  i^SZJ  Ros- 
sini, 1868. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  PARIS  OF  DUMAS 


I'^UMAS'  real  descent  upon  the  Paris  of 
g  B  letters  and  art  was  in  1823,  when  he  had 
given  up  his  situation  in  the  notary's 
office  at  Crepy,  and  after  the  eventful  holiday  jour- 
ney of  a  few  weeks  before.  His  own  account  of 
this,  his  fourth  entrance  into  the  city,  states  that 
he  was  "  landed  from  the  coach  at  five  a.  m.  in  the 
Rue  Bouloi,  No.  9.  It  was  Sunday  morning,  and 
Bourbon  Paris  was  very  gloomy  on  a  Sunday." 

Within  a  short  time  of  his  arrival  the  young 
romancer  was  making  calls,  of  a  nature  which  he 
hoped  would  provide  him  some  sort  of  employ- 
ment until  he  should  make  his  way  in  letters,  upon 
many  bearers  of  famous  Bourbon  names  who  lived 
in  the  Faubourgs  St.  Germain  and  St.  Honore  — 
all  friends  and  compatriots  of  his  father. 

He  had  brought  with  him  letters  formerly  writ- 
ten to  his  father,  and  hoped  to  use  them  as  a  means 

83 


84  Dumas'  Paris 

of  introduction.  He  approached  Marshal  Jourdain, 
General  Sebastiani,  the  Due  de  Bellune,  and  others, 
but  it  was  not  until  he  presented  himself  to  General 
Foy,  at  64  Rue  du  Mont  Blanc,  —  the  deputy  for 
his  department,  —  that  anything  to  his  benefit  re- 
sulted. 

Finally,  through  the  kindly  aid  of  General  Foy, 
Dumas  —  son  of  a  republican  general  though  he 
was  —  found  himself  seated  upon  a  clerk's  stool, 
quill  in  hand,  writing  out  dictation  at  the  secretary's 
bureau  of  the  Due  d'Orleans. 

"  I  then  set  about  to  look  for  lodgings,"  said 
Dumas,  "  and,  after  going  up  and  down  many  stair- 
cases, I  came  to  a  halt  in  a  little  room  on  a  fourth 
story,  which  belonged  to  that  immense  pile  known 
as  the  *  Pate  des  Italiens.'  The  room  looked  out  on 
the  courtyard,  and  I  was  to  have  it  for  one  hundred 
and  twenty  francs  per  annum." 

From  that  time  on  Dumas  may  be  said  to  have 
known  Paris  intimately  —  its  life,  its  letters,  its 
hotels  and  restaurants,  its  theatres,  its  salons,  and 
its  boulevards. 

So  well  did  he  know  it  that  he  became  a  part  and 
parcel  of  it. 

His  literary  affairs  and  relations  are  dealt  with 
elsewhere,  but  the  various  aspects  of  the  social  and 
economic  life  of  Paris  at  the  time  Dumas  knew 


Ubc  parts  of  Dumas  85 

its  very  pulse-beats  must  be  gleaned  from  various 
contemporary  sources. 

The  real  Paris  which  Dumas  knew  —  the  Paris 
of  the  Second  Empire  —  exists  no  more.  The  order 
of  things  changeth  in  all  but  the  conduct  of  the 
stars,  and  Paris,  more  than  any  other  centre  of 
activity,  scintillates  and  fluctuates  like  the  changings 
of  the  money-markets. 

The  life  that  Dumas  lived,  so  far  as  it  has  no 
bearing  on  his  literary  labours  or  the  evolving  of  his 
characters,  is  quite  another  affair  from  that  of  his 
yearly  round  of  work. 

He  knew  intimately  all  the  gay  world  of  Paris, 
and  fresh  echoes  of  the  part  he  played  therein  are 
being  continually  presented  to  us. 

He  knew,  also,  quite  as  intimately,  certain  politi- 
cal and  social  movements  which  took  place  around 
about  him,  in  which  he  himself  had  no  part. 

It  was  in  the  fifties  of  the  nineteenth  century  that 
Paris  first  became  what  one  might  call  a  coherent 
mass.  This  was  before  the  days  of  the  application 
of  the  adjective  "  Greater  '*  to  the  areas  of  munic- 
ipalities. Since  then  we  have  had,  of  course,  a 
"  Greater  Paris  "  as  we  have  a  "  Greater  London  " 
and  a  "  Greater  New  York,"  but  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  Second  Empire  (1852)  there  sprang 
into  being,  —  "  jumped  at  one's  eyes,"  as  the  French 


86  Dumas'  Paris 

say,  —  when  viewed  from  the  heights  of  the  towers 
of  Notre  Dame,  an  immense  panorama,  which 
showed  the  results  of  a  prodigious  development, 
radiating  far  into  the  distance,  from  the  common 
centre  of  the  lie  de  la  Cite  and  the  still  more  ancient 
Lutece, 

Up  to  the  construction  of  the  present  fortifica- 
tions, —  under  Louis-Philippe,  —  Paris  had  been 
surrounded,  at  its  outer  confines,  by  a  simple  octroi 
barrier  of  about  twenty-five  kilometres  in  circum- 
ference, and  pierced  by  fifty-four  entrances.  Since 
i860  this  wall  has  been  raised  and  the  limits  of  what 
might  be  called  Paris  proper  have  been  extended  up 
to  the  fortified  lines. 

This  fortification  wall  was  thirty-four  kilome- 
tres in  length ;  was  strengthened  by  ninety- four  bas- 
tions, and  surrounded  and  supported  by  thirteen  de- 
tached forts.  Sixty-five  openings  gave  access  to  the 
inner  city,  by  which  the  roadways,  waterways,  and 
railways  entered.  These  were  further  distinguished 
by  classification  as  follows :  portes — of  which  there 
were  fifty;  poternes  —  of  which  there  were  five;  and 
passages  —  of  which  there  were  ten.  Nine  railways 
entered  the  city,  and  the  ''  Ceinture"  or  girdle  rail- 
way, which  was  to  bind  the  various  gares,  was 
already  conceived. 

At  this  time,  too,  the  Quais  received  marked  at- 


Ubc  pariB  of  2)umas  87 

tention  and  development;  trees  were  planted  along 
the  streets  which  bordered  upon  them,  and  a  vast 
system  of  sewerage  was  planned  which  became  — 
and  endures  until  to-day  —  one  of  the  sights  of 
Paris,  for  those  who  take  pleasure  in  such  unsavoury 
amusements. 

Lighting  by  gas  was  greatly  improved,  and  street- 
lamps  were  largely  multiplied,  with  the  result  that 
Paris  became  known  for  the  first  time  as  "  La  Ville 
Lumidre." 

A  score  or  more  of  villages,  or  bourgs,  before 
i860,  were  between  the  limits  of  these  two  bar- 
riers, but  were  at  that  time  united  by  the  loi  d'an- 
flexion,  and  so  "  Greater  Paris  "  came  into  being. 

The  principle  bourgs  which  lost  their  identity, 
which,  at  the  same  time  is,  in  a  way,  yet  preserved, 
were  Auteuil,  Passy,  les  Ternes,  Batignolles,  Mont- 
martre,  la  Chapelle,  la  Villette,  Belleville,  Menilmon- 
tant,  Charenton,  and  Bercy ;  and  thus  the  population 
of  Paris  grew,  as  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  from 
twelve  hundred  thousand  to  sixteen  hundred  thou- 
sand; and  its  superficial  area  from  thirty- four 
hundred  hectares  to  more  than  eight  thousand  —  a 
hectare  being  about  the  equivalent  of  two  and  a 
half  acres. 

During  the  period  of  the  "  Restoration,'*  which 
extended  fiom  the  end  of  the  reign  of  the  great 


88  Dumas'  parts 

Napoleon  to  the  coming  of  Louis-Philippe  (1814 — 
30),  Paris  may  be  said  to  have  been  in,  or  at  least 
was  at  the  beginning  of,  its  golden  age  of  pros- 
perity. 

In  a  way  the  era  was  somewhat  inglorious,  but 
in  spite  of  liberal  and  commonplace  opinion,  there 
was  made  an  earnest  effort  to  again  secure  the 
pride  of  place  for  French  letters  and  arts;  and  it 
was  then  that  the  romantic  school,  with  Dumas  at 
its  very  head,  attained  its  first  importance. 

It  was  not,  however,  until  Louis-Philippe  came 
into  power  that  civic  improvements  made  any  nota- 
ble progress,  though  the  Pont  des  Invalides  had 
been  built,  and  gas-lamps,  omnibuses,  and  side- 
walks, had  been  introduced  just  previously. 

Under  Louis-Philippe  were  completed  the  figlise 
de  la  Madeleine  and  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  d'Etoile. 
The  Obelisk,  —  a  gift  from  Mohammed  Ali,  Vice- 
roy of  Egypt,  to  Louis-Philippe,  —  the  Colonne  de 
Juillet,  and  the  Ponts  Louis-Philippe  and  du  Car- 
rousel were  built,  as  well  as  the  modern  fortifica- 
tions of  Paris,  with  their  detached  forts  of  Mont 
Valerien,  Ivry,  Giarenton,  Nogent,  etc. 

There  existed  also  the  encircling  boulevards  just 
within  the  fortifications,  and  yet  another  parallel 
series  on  the  north,  beginning  at  the  Madeleine  and 
extending  to  the  Colonne  de  Juillet. 


Ube  Paris  ot  Dumas  89 

It  was  not,  however,  until  the  Second  Republic 
and  the  Second  Empire  of  Napoleon  III.  that  a 
hitherto  unparallelled  transformation  was  under- 
taken, and  there  sprung  into  existence  still  more 
broad  boulevards  and  spacious  squares,  and  many 
palatial  civic  and  private  establishments,  the  Bourse, 
the  New  Opera,  and  several  theatres,  the  Ceinture 
Railway,  and  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  and  the  Bois  de 
Vincennes. 

By  this  time  Dumas*  activities  were  so  great,  or 
at  least  the  product  thereof  was  so  great,  that  even 
his  intimate  knowledge  of  French  life  of  a  more 
heroic  day  could  not  furnish  him  all  the  material 
which  he  desired. 

It  was  then  that  he  produced  those  essentially 
modern  stories  of  life  in  Paris  of  that  day,  which, 
slight  though  they  are  as  compared  with  the  longer 
romances,  are  best  represented  by  the  "  Corsican 
Brothers,"  "  Captain  Pamphile,"  and  "  Gabriel 
Lambert." 

Among  the  buildings  at  this  time  pulled  down,  on 
the  Place  du  Carrousel,  preparatory  to  the  termina- 
tion of  the  Louvre,  was  the  Hotel  Longueville,  the 
residence  of  the  beautiful  duchess  of  that  name, 
celebrated  for  her  support  of  the  Fronde  and  her 
gallantries,  as  much  as  for  her  beauty.     Dumas 


90  Bumaa'  Iparis 

would  have  revelled  in  the  following  incident  as 
the  basis  of  a  tale.  In  the  arched  roof  of  one  of 
the  cellars  of  the  duchess'  hotel  two  skeletons  of 
a  very  large  size  and  in  a  perfect  state  of  preserva- 
tion were  discovered,  which  have  since  been  the 
object  of  many  discussions  on  the  part  of  the  anti- 
quarians, but  adhuc  sub  judice  lis  est.  Another  dis- 
covery was  made  close  by  the  skeletons,  which  is 
more  interesting  from  a  literary  point  of  view; 
namely,  that  of  a  box,  in  carved  steel,  embellished 
with  gilded  brass  knobs,  and  containing  several 
papers.  Among  them  was  an  amatory  epistle  in 
verse,  from  the  Prince  de  Marsillac  to  the  fair 
duchess.  The  other  papers  were  letters  relating  to 
the  state  of  affairs  at  that  time;  some  from  the 
hand  of  the  celebrated  Turenne,  with  memorandums, 
and  of  the  Prince  de  Conti,  "of  great  value  to 
autograph  collectors,"  said  the  newspaper  accounts 
of  the  time,  but  assuredly  of  still  more  value  to 
historians,  or  even  novelists. 

At  this  time  Paris  was  peopled  with  many  hun- 
dreds —  perhaps  thousands  —  of  mauvais  sujets, 
and  frequent  robberies  and  nightly  outrages  were 
more  numerous  than  ever.  The  government  at  last 
hit  on  the  plan  of  sending  to  the  hagnes  of  Toulon 
and  Brest  for  several  of  the  turnkeys  and  gaolers 
of  those  great  convict  depots ^  to  whom  the  features 


XTbc  Paris  ot  Dumas  91 

of  all  their  former  prisoners  were  perfectly  known. 
These  functionaries,  accompanied  by  a  policeman  in 
plain  clothes,  perambulated  every  part  of  Paris  by 
day,  and  by  night  frequented  all  the  theatres,  from 
the  Grand  Opera  downward,  the  low  cafes  and  wine- 
shops. It  appears  that  more  than  four  hundred  of 
these  desperadoes  were  recognized  and  retransferred 
to  their  old  quarters  at  Toulon.  Some  of  these 
worthies  had  been  carrying  on  schemes  of  swin- 
dling on  a  colossal  scale,  and  more  than  one  is  de- 
scribed as  having  entered  into  large  speculations  on 
the  Bourse.  Perhaps  it  was  from  some  such  cir- 
cumstance as  this  that  Dumas  evolved  that  wonder- 
ful narrative  of  the  life  of  a  forger,  "  Gabriel  Lam- 
bert." One  of  the  most  noted  in  the  craft  was 
known  by  the  soubriquet  of  Pierre  Mandrin,  the 
name  of  that  celebre  being  conferred  on  account 
of  his  superiority  and  skill  in  assuming  disguises. 
When  arrested  he  was  figuring  as  a  Polish  count, 
and  covered  with  expensive  rings  and  jewelry. 
The  career  of  this  ruffian  is  interesting.  In  1839, 
while  undergoing  an  imprisonment  of  two  years 
for  robbery,  he  attempted  to  make  his  escape  by 
murdering  the  gaoler,  but  failed,  however,  and  was 
sent  to  the  galleys  at  Toulon  for  twenty  years.  In 
1848  he  did  escape  from  Brest,  and,  notwithstand- 
ing the  greatest  exertions  on  the  part  of  the  police, 


92  Dumas'  parts 

he  succeeded  in  crossing  the  whole  of  France  and 
gaining  Belgium,  where  he  remained  for  some  time. 
Owing  to  the  persecutions  of  the  Belgian  police, 
he  subsequently  returned  to  France.  He  was  so 
unfortunate  as  to  be  captured  in  the  very  act  of 
breaking  into  a  house  at  Besangon,  but  his  prodig- 
ious activity  enabled  him  once  again  to  escape  while 
on  his  way  to  prison,  and  he  came  to  Paris.  Being 
possessed  of  some  money,  he  resolved  to  abandon 
his  evil  courses,  and  set  up  a  greengrocer's  shop  in 
the  Rue  Rambuteau,  which  went  on  thrivingly  for 
some  time.  But  such  an  inactive  life  was  insup- 
portable to  him,  and  he  soon  resumed  his  former 
exciting  pursuits.  Several  robberies  committed 
with  consummate  skill  soon  informed  the  police  of 
the  presence  in  Paris  of  some  great  master  of  the 
art  of  Mercury.  The  most  experienced  officers  were 
accordingly  sent  out,  but  they  made  no  capture  until 
one  of  the  Toulon  gaolers  fancied  he  recollected  the 
convict  under  the  features  of  an  elegantly  attired 
lion  on  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens.  A  few  hours 
afterward  the  luckless  echappe  was  safely  lodged 
at  the  Conciergerie.  At  his  lodgings,  besides  the 
usual  housebreaking  implements,  a  complete  assort- 
ment of  costumes  of  every  kind  was  discovered  — 
from  that  of  the  dandy  of  the  first  water  to  the 
blouse  of  the  artisan. 


TLbc  Paris  of  Bumas  93 

There  is  something  more  than  a  morbid  interest 
which  attaches  itself  to  the  former  homes  and 
haunts  of  a  great  author  or  artist.  The  emotion 
is  something  akin  to  sentiment,  to  be  sure,  but  it 
is  pardonable;  far  more  so  than  the  contemplation 
of  many  more  popular  and  notorious  places. 

He  who  would  follow  the  footsteps  of  Alexandre 
Dumas  about  Paris  must  either  be  fleet  of  foot,  or 
one  who  can  sustain  a  long  march.  At  any  rate, 
the  progress  will  take  a  considerable  time. 

It  is  impossible  to  say  in  how  many  places  he 
lived,  though  one  gathers  from  the  "  Memoires," 
and  from  contemporary  information,  that  they  num- 
bered many  score,  and  the  uncharitable  have  further 
said  that  he  found  it  more  economical  to  move  than 
to  pay  his  rents.  Reprehensible  as  this  practice  may 
be,  Dumas  was  no  single  exponent  of  it  —  among 
artists  and  authors;  and  above  all  in  his  case,  as 
we  know,  it  resulted  from  imprudence  and  ofttimes 
misplaced  confidence  and  generosity. 

One  of  Dumas'  early  homes  in  Paris,  jocularly 
called  by  him  "La  Pate  d'ltalie,"  was  situated  in 
that  famous  centre  of  unconventionality,  the  Boule- 
vard des  Italiens,  a  typical  tree-shaded  and  cafe- 
lined  boulevard. 

Its  name  was  obviously  acquired  from  its  re- 
semblance to,  or  suggestion  of  being  constructed  of, 


94  Dumas'  Paris 

that  mastic  which  is  known  in  Germany  as  noodles, 
in  Italy  as  macaroni,  and  in  English-speaking 
countries  as  dough. 

To-day  the  structure,  as  it  then  was,  exists  no 
more,  though  the  present  edifice  at  the  corner  of 
the  Rue  Louis  le  Grand,  opposite  the  vaudeville 
theatre,  has  been  assuredly  stated  as  in  no  wise 
differing  in  general  appearance  from  its  prototype, 
and,  as  it  is  after  the  same  ginger-cake  style  of 
architecture,  it  will  serve  its  purpose. 

Albert  Vandam,  in  "  An  Englishman  in  Paris," 
that  remarkable  book  of  reminiscence  whose  author- 
ship was  so  much  in  doubt  when  the  work  was  first 
published,  devoted  a  whole  chapter  to  the  intimacies 
of  Dumas  pere;  indeed,  nearly  every  feature  and 
character  of  prominence  in  the  great  world  of  Paris 
—  at  the  time  of  which  he  writes  —  strides  through 
the  pages  of  this  remarkably  illuminating  book,  in 
a  manner  which  is  unequalled  by  any  conventional 
volume  of  "  Reminiscence,"  "  Observations,"  or 
"Memoirs"  yet  written  in  the  English  language, 
dealing  with  the  life  of  Paris  —  or,  for  that  matter, 
of  any  other  capital. 

His  account,  also,  of  a  "  literary  cafe  "  of  the 
Paris  of  the  forties  could  only  have  been  written 
by  one  who  knew  the  life  intimately,  and,  so  far 
as  Dumas*  acquaintances  and  contemporaries  are 


Ube  parts  ot  Dumas  95 

concerned,  Vandam's  book  throws  many  additional 
side-lights  on  an  aspect  which  of  itself  lies  in  no 
perceptible  shadow. 

Even  in  those  days  the  "  boulevards  "  —  the  pop- 
ular resort  of  the  men  of  letters,  artists,  and  musical 
folk  —  meant,  as  it  does  to-day,  a  somewhat  re- 
stricted area  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  the 
present  Opera.  At  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Lafitte  was 
a  tobacconist's  shop,  whose  genius  was  a  "  splendid 
creature,"  of  whom  Alfred  de  Musset  became  so 
enamoured  that  his  friends  feared  for  an  "  impru- 
dence on  his  part."  The  various  elements  of  so- 
ciety and  cliques  had  their  favourite  resorts  and 
rendezvous ;  the  actors  under  the  trees  in  the  court- 
yard of  the  Palais  Royal ;  the  ouvrier  and  his  family 
meandered  in  the  Champs  Elysees  or  journeyed 
country  ward  to  Grenelle;  while  the  soldiery  mostly 
repaired  to  La  Plaine  de  St.  Denis. 

A  sister  to  Thiers  kept  a  small  dining  establish- 
ment in  the  Rue  Drouet,  and  many  journalistic  and 
political  gatherings  were  held  at  her  tables  d'hote. 
When  asked  whether  her  delicious  pheasants  were 
of  her  illustrious  brother's  shooting,  she  shook  her 
head,  and  replied :  "  No,  M.  the  President  of  the 
Council  has  not  the  honour  to  supply  my  estab- 
lishment." 

Bohemia,  as  Paris  best  knew  it  in  the  fifties,  was 


96  Dumas'  Paris 

not  that  pleasant  land  which  lies  between  the  Mora- 
vian and  the  Giant  Mountains;  neither  were  the 
Bohemians  of  Paris  a  Slavonic  or  Teutonic  people 
of  a  strange,  nomad  race. 

But  the  history  of  the  Bohemia  of  arts  and  letters 
—  which  rose  to  its  greatest  and  most  prophetic 
heights  in  the  Paris  of  the  nineteenth  century  — 
would  no  doubt  prove  to  be  as  extensive  a  work 
as  Buckle's  "  History  of  Civilization/'  though  the 
recitation  of  tenets  and  principles  of  one  would  be 
the  inevitable  reverse  of  the  other. 

The  intellectual  Bohemian  —  the  artist,  or  the 
man  of  letters  —  has  something  in  his  make-up  of 
the  gipsy's  love  of  the  open  road;  the  vagabond 
who  instinctively  rebels  against  the  established  rules 
of  society,  more  because  they  are  established  than 
for  any  other  reason. 

Henri  Miirger  is  commonly  supposed  to  have 
popularized  the  "  Bohemia  "  of  arts  and  letters,  and 
it  is  to  him  we  owe  perhaps  the  most  graphic  pic- 
tures of  the  life  which  held  forth  in  the  Quartier 
Latin,  notorious  for  centuries  for  its  lack  of  dis- 
cipline and  its  defiance  of  the  laws  of  Church,  state, 
and  society.  It  was  the  very  nursery  of  open 
thought  and  liberty  against  absolutism  and  the  con- 
ventional proprieties. 

Gustave  Nadaud  described  this  "  unknown  land  " 


Ube  parts  of  Dumas  97 

in  subtle  verse,  which  loses  not  a  little  in  attempted 
paraphrase : 

"  There  stands  behind  Ste.  Genevieve, 
A  city  where  no  fancy  paves 

With  gold  the  narrow  streets, 
But  jovial  youth,  the  landlady 
On  gloomy  stairs,  in  attic  high. 
Gay  hope,  her  tenant,  meets. 


'Twas  there  that  the  Pays  Latin  stood, 
*Twas  there  the  world  was  really  good, 
'Twas  there  that  she  was  gay." 

Of  the  freedom  and  the  unconventionality  of  the 
life  of  the  Bohemian  world  of  Paris,  where  the  lives 
of  literature  and  art  blended  in  an  almost  imper- 
ceptible manner,  and  the  gay  indifference  of  its  in- 
habitants, one  has  but  to  recall  the  incident  where 
George  Sand  went  to  the  studio  of  the  painter 
Delacroix  to  tell  him  that  she  had  sad  news  for 
him;  that  she  could  never  love  him;  and  more 
of  the  same  sort.  "  Indeed,"  said  Delacroix,  who 
kept  on  painting.  —  "  You  are  angry  with  me,  are 
you  not?  You  will  never  forgive  me?''  —  "Cer- 
tainly I  will,'*  said  the  painter,  who  was  still  at  his 
work,  "but  Tve  got  a  bit  of  sky  here  that  has 
caused  me  a  deal  of  trouble  and  is  just  coming 
right.    Go  away,  or  sit  down,  and  I  will  be  through 


98  2)umas'  parts 

in  ten  minutes."  She  went,  and  of  course  did  not 
return,  and  so  the  affaire  closed. 

Dumas  was  hardly  of  the  Pays  Latin.  He  had 
little  in  common  with  the  Bohemianism  of  the 
poseur,  and  the  Bohemia  of  letters  and  art  has  been 
largely  made  up  of  that  sort  of  thing. 

More  particularly  Dumas'  life  was  that  of  the 
boulevards,  of  the  journalist,  of  tremendous  energy 
and  output  rather  than  that  of  the  dilettante,  and  so 
he  has  but  little  interest  in  the  south  bank  of  the 
Seine. 

Michelet,  •  while  proclaiming  loudly  for  French 
literature  and  life  in  Le  Peuple,  published  in  1846, 
desponds  somewhat  of  his  country  from  the  fact 
that  the  overwhelming  genius  of  the  popular  novel- 
ists of  that  day  —  and  who  shall  not  say  since  then, 
as  well  —  have  sought  their  models,  too  often,  in 
dingy  cabarets,  vile  dens  of  iniquity,  or  even  in  the 
prisons  themselves. 

He  said :  "  This  mania  of  slandering  oneself,  of 
exhibiting  one's  sores,  and  going,  as  it  were,  to  look 
for  shame,  will  be  mortal  in  the  course  of  time." 

This  may,  to  a  great  extent,  have  been  true  then 
—  and  is  true  to-day  —  manifestly,  but  no  lover  of 
the  beautiful  ought  to  condemn  a  noisome  flower 
if  but  its  buds  were  beautiful,  and  Paris  —  the  Paris 


Ube  lPari0  ot  Bumas  99 

of  the  Restoration,  the  Empire,  or  the  RepubHc  —  is 
none  the  worse  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  because  of 
the  iniquities  which  exist  in  every  large  centre  of 
population,  where  creeds  and  intellects  of  all  shades 
and  capacities  are  herded  together. 

The  French  novelist,  it  is  true,  can  be  very  sordid 
and  banal,  but  he  can  be  as  childlike  and  bland  as 
an  unsophisticated  young  girl  —  when  he  has  a 
mind  to. 

Dumas'  novels  were  not  lacking  in  vigour,  valour, 
or  action,  and  he  wrote  mostly  of  romantic  times; 
so  Michelet  could  not  have  referred  to  him.  Per- 
haps he  had  the  "  Mysteries  of  Paris  "  or  "  The 
Wandering  Jew  "  in  mind,  whose  author  certainly 
did  give  full  measure  of  sordid  detail;  but  then, 
Sue  has  been  accused  before  now  as  not  presenting 
a  strictly  truthful  picture. 

So  much  for  the  presentation  of  the  tableaux. 
But  what  about  the  actual  condition  of  the  people 
at  the  time? 

Michelet's  interest  in  Europe  was  centred  on 
France  and  confined  to  le  peuple;  a  term  in  which  he 
ofttimes  included  the  bourgeois,  as  well  he  might, 
though  he  more  often  regarded  those  who  worked 
with  their  hands.  He  repeatedly  says :  "  I  myself 
have  been  one  of  those  workmen,  and,  although  I 


loo  Dumas'  pads 

have  risen  to  a  different  class,  I  retain  the  sym- 
pathies of  my  early  conditions/' 

Michelet's  judgment  was  quite  independent  and 
original  when  he  compared  the  different  classes; 
and  he  had  a  decided  preference  for  that  section 
which  cultivates  the  soil,  though  by  no  means  did 
he  neglect  those  engaged  in  trade  and  manufacture. 
The  ouvrier  industriel  was  as  much  entitled  to 
respect  as  the  labourer  in  the  fields,  or  even  the 
small  tenant-farmer.  He  regretted,  of  course,  the 
competition  which  turned  industrialisme  into  a  cut- 
throat policy.  He  furthermore  had  this  to  say  con- 
cerning foreign  trade: 

"  Alsace  and  Lyons  have  conquered  art  arid 
science  to  achieve  beauty  for  others.  .  .  .  The 
*  fairy  of  Paris '  (the  modiste)  meets,  from  minute 
to  minute,  the  most  unexpected  flights  of  fancy  — 
and  she  or  he  does  to-day,  be  it  recalled.  Les 
Strangers  come  in  spite  of  themselves,  and  they  buy 
of  her  (France);  ^7^  achetent  —  but  what?  —  pat- 
terns, and  then  go  basely  home  and  copy  them,  to 
the  loss,  hut  to  the  glory,  of  France. 

"  The  Englishman  or  the  German  buys  a  few 
pieces  of  goods  at  Paris  or  Lyons ;  just  as  in  letters 
France  writes  and  Belgium  sells." 

On  the  whole,  Michelet  thought  that  the  popu- 
lation was  more  successful  in  tilling  the  soil  than 


Ube  Paris  of  Dumas  loi 

in  the  marts  of  the  world;  and  there  is  this  to  be 
said,  there  is  no  question  but  what  France  is  a 
self-contained  country,  though  its  arts  have  gone 
forth  into  the  world  and  influenced  all  nations. 

Paris  is,  ever  has  been,  and  proudly  —  perhaps 
rightly  —  thinks  that  it  ever  will  be,  the  artistic 
capital  of  the  world. 

Georges  Avenel  has  recently  delivered  himself 
of  a  screed  on  the  "  Mechanism  of  Modem  Life," 
wherein  are  many  pertinent,  if  sometimes  trite,  ob- 
servations on  the  more  or  less  automatic  processes 
by  which  we  are  lodged,  fed,  and  clothed  to-day. 

He  gives  rather  a  quaint,  but  unquestionably  true, 
reason  for  the  alleged  falling-off  in  the  cookery 
of  French  —  of  course  he  means  Parisian  —  res- 
taurants. It  is,  he  says,  that  modern  patrons  will 
no  longer  pay  the  prices,  or,  rather,  will  not  spend 
the  money  that  they  once  did.  In  the  first  half 
of  the  last  century  —  the  time  of  Dumas'  activities 
and  achievements  —  he  tells  us  that  many  Parisian 
lovers  of  good  fare  were  accustomed  to  "  eat  a 
napoleon  "  daily  for  their  dinner.  Nowadays,  the 
same  persons  dine  sufficiently  at  their  club  for  eight 
and  a  half  francs.  Perhaps  the  abatement  of 
modern  appetites  has  something  to  say  to  this,  as 
many  folk  seldom  take  more  than  thirty-five  or 
forty  minutes  over  their  evening  meal.    How  would 


UNIVERSITY    I 


I02  Bumas'  parts 

this  compare  with  the  Gargantuan  feasts  described 
by  Brillat-Savarin  and  others,  or  the  gastronomic 
exploits  of  those  who  ate  two  turkeys  at  a  sitting? 

Clearly,  for  comfort,  and  perhaps  luxury,  the 
Parisian  hotels  and  restaurants  of  a  former  day 
compare  agreeably  with  those  of  our  own  time; 
not  so  much,  perhaps,  with  regard  to  time  and 
labour-saving  machinery,  which  is  the  equipment 
of  the  modern  batterie  de  cuisine,  but  with  the  re- 
sults achieved  by  more  simple,  if  more  laborious, 
means,  and  the  appointments  and  surroundings 
amid  which  they  were  put  upon  the  board.  "  The 
proof  of  the  pudding  is  in  the  eating  "  is  still  appli- 
cable, whether  its  components  be  beaten  or  kneaded 
by  clockwork  or  the  cook's  boy. 

With  the  hotels  himself,  Avenel  is  less  concernc'd, 
though  he  reminds  us  again  that  Madame  de  Sevigne 
had  often  to  lie  upon  straw  in  the  inns  she  met 
with  in  travelling,  and  looked  upon  a  bed  in  a 
hotel,  which  would  allow  one  to  undress,  as  a 
luxury.  We  also  learn  that  the  travellers  of  those 
days  had  to  carry  their  own  knives,  the  innkeeper 
thinking  that  he  did  enough  in  providing  spoons 
and  forks.  Nor  were  hotels  particularly  cheap,  a 
small  suite  of  rooms  in  a  hotel  of  the  Rue  Riche- 
lieu costing  480  francs  a  week.  It  was  Napoleon  III. 
who,  by  his  creation  of  the  Hotel  de  Louvre, — 


Ubc  Paris  ot  Bumas  103 

not  the  present  establishment  of  the  same  name, 
but  a  much  larger  structure,  —  first  set  the  fashion 
of  monster  hostelries.  But  what  was  this  com- 
pared with  the  Elysees  Palace,  which  M.  d'Avenel 
chooses  as  his  type  of  modem  luxury,  with  its 
forty-three  cooks,  divided  into  seven  brigades,  each 
commanded  by  an  officer  drawing  3,750  francs  a 
year,  and  its  thirty-five  hundred  pairs  of  sheets  and 
fifty  thousand  towels,  valued  together  at  little  short 
of  250,000  francs?  Yet,  as  we  well  know,  even 
these  totals  pale  before  some  of  the  hotels  of  Amer- 
ica, in  which  M.  d'Avenel  sees  the  ne  plus  ultra  of 
organization  and  saving  of  labour  by  the  ingenious 
use  of  machinery,  and  incidentally  a  great  deal  of 
the  sentiment  of  good  cheer,  which  was  as  much  an 
ingredient  of  former  hospitality  as  was  the  salt 
and  pepper  of  a  repast. 

It  is  pleasant  to  read  of  Alexandre  Dumas'  culi- 
nary skill,  though  the  repetition  of  the  fact  has 
appeared  in  the  works  of  well-nigh  every  writer 
who  has  written  of  the  Paris  of  the  fifties  and 
sixties.  The  dinners  at  his  apartments  in  the  Boule- 
vard Malesherbes  were  worthy  of  Soyer  or  even 
of  Brillat-Savarin  himself  in  his  best  days.  In  his 
last  "  Causeries  Culinaires,"  the  author  of  "  Monte 
Cristo "  tells  us  that  the  Bourbon  kings  were 
specially  fond  of  soup.     "  The  family,"  he  writes, 


104  2)uma5'  lPari5 

"  from  Louis  XIV.  to  the  last  of  their  race  who 
reigned  in  France,  have  been  great  eaters.  The 
Grand  Monarque  commenced  his  dinner  by  two  and 
sometimes  three  different  kinds  of  soup;  Louis- 
PhiHppe  by  four  plates  of  various  species  of  this 
comestible;  in  the  fifth  plate  his  Majesty  usually 
mixed  portions  of  the  four  varieties  he  had  eaten, 
and  appeared  to  enjoy  this  singular  culinary  com- 
bination." 

Dumas'  reputation  as  an  epicure  must  have  been 
formed  early;  he  describes  in  his  "  Memoires  "  how, 
on  a  certain  occasion,  when  he  had  first  become 
installed  in  Paris,  he  met  a  gentleman,  Charles 
Nodier,  in  the  stalls  of  the  Porte  St.  Martin,  who 
was  reading  a  well-worn  Elzevir  entitled  "  La  Pas- 
tissier  Frangaise."  He  says,  "  I  address  him.  .  .  . 
*  Pardon  my  impertinence,  but  are  you  very  fond 
of  eggs  ?  '  *  Why  so  ?  '  *  That  book  you  are  read- 
ing, does  it  not  give  recipes  for  cooking  eggs  in 
sixty  different  ways?'  '  It  does.'  *  If  I  could  but 
procure  a  copy.'  *  But  this  is  an  Elzevir,'  says  my 
neighbour." 

The  Parisian  is  without  a  rival  as  an  epicure 
and  a  gastronome,  and  he  associates  no  stigma  with 
the  epithet.  In  Anglo-Saxon  lands  the  reverse  is 
the  case,  though  why  it  is  hard  to  see. 

"Frog-legs"  came  to  be  a  tidbit  in  the  tables 


XTbe  Paris  of  Dumas  105 

d'hote  of  New  York  and  London  many  years  ago, 
but  sympathy  has  been  withheld  from  the  luscious 
escargot.  There  be  those  fearless  individuals  who 
by  reason  of  the  entente  cordiale  have  tasted  of  him 
and  found  him  good,  but  learning  that  in  the  cook- 
shops  of  Paris  they  have  at  last  learned  to  fabricate 
them  to  equal  the  native  grown  article  of  Bour- 
gogne,  have  tabooed  them  once  for  all,  and  threaten 
to  withdraw  their  liking  for  that  other  succulent 
dainty,  the  frog. 

At  any  rate,  the  schoolboy  idea  that  the  Parisian's 
staple  fare  is  snails  and  frogs  is  quite  exploded,  and 
small  wonder  it  is  that  Anglo-Saxon  palates  never 
became  wholly  inured  to  them.  But  what  about 
England's  peculiar  dishes?  Marrow-bones  and 
stewed  eels,  for  instance? 

Dumas'  familiarity  with  the  good  things  of  the 
table  is  nowhere  more  strongly  advanced  than  in  the 
opening  chapter  of  "  The  Queen's  Necklace," 
wherein  the  author  recounts  the  incident  of  "  the 
nobleman  and  his  mattre  d' hotel." 

The  scene  was  laid  in  1784,  and  runs  as  follows: 

"  The  marshal  turned  toward  his  mattre  d' hotel, 
and  said,  *  Sir,  I  suppose  you  have  prepared  me  a 
good  dinner?' 


io6  Dumas'  Paris 

"  *  Certainly,  your  Grace/ 

"  *  You  have  the  list  of  my  guests  ?  ' 

"  *  I  remember  them  perfectly/ 

"  '  There  are  two  sorts  of  dinners,  sir,'  said  the 
marshal. 

"  *  True,  your  Grace,  but  — ' 

"  '  In  the  first  place,  at  what  time  do  we  dine?  * 

"  *  Your  Grace,  the  citizens  dine  at  two,  the  bar 
at  three,  the  nobility  at  four  — ' 

"'And  I,  sir?' 

"  *  Your  Grace  will  dine  to-day  at  five/ 

"*0h,  at  five!' 

"  *  Yes,  your  Grace,  like  the  king  — ' 

"  '  And  why  like  the  king? ' 

"  *  Because,  on  the  list  of  your  guests  is  the  name 
of  a  king/ 

"  *  Not  so,  sir,  you  mistake;  all  my  guests  to-day 
are  simple  noblemen/ 

"  '  Your  Grace  is  surely  jesting;  the  Count  Haga, 
who  is  among  the  guests  — ' 

"'Well,  sir!' 

"  '  The  Count  Haga  is  a  king/  (The  Count 
Haga  was  the  well-known  name  of  the  King  of 
Sweden,  assumed  by  him  when  travelling  in  France. ) 

"  *  In  any  event,  your  Grace  cannot  dine  before 
five  o'clock.' 


xrbe  parts  of  Dumas  107 

" '  In  heaven's  name,  do  not  be  obstinate,  but  let 
us  have  dinner  at  four/ 

"  *  But  at  four  o'clock,  your  Grace,  what  I  am 
expecting  will  not  have  arrived.  Your  Grace,  I 
wait  for  a  bottle  of  wine.' 

"  *  A  bottle  of  wine!  Explain  yourself,  sir;  the 
thing  begins  to  interest  me.' 

"  *  Listen,  then,  your  Grace ;  his  Majesty,  the 
King  of  Sweden  —  I  beg  pardon,  the  Count 
Haga,  I  should  have  said  —  drinks  nothing  but 
Tokay.' 

"  *  Well,  am  I  so  poor  as  to  have  no  Tokay  in 
my  cellar  ?    If  so,  I  must  dismiss  my  butler.' 

"  *  Not  so,  your  Grace;  on  the  contrary,  you  have 
about  sixty  bottles.' 

"  *  Well,  do  you  think  Count  Haga  will  drink 
sixty  bottles  with  his  dinner  ? ' 

"  *  No,  your  Grace ;  but  when  Count  Haga  first 
visited  France  when  he  was  only  prince  royal,  he 
dined  with  the  late  king,  who  had  received  twelve 
bottles  of  Tokay  from  the  Emperor  of  Austria.  You 
are  aware  that  the  Tokay  of  the  finest  vintages  is 
reserved  exclusively  for  the  cellar  of  the  emperor, 
and  that  kings  themselves  can  only  drink  it  when  he 
pleases  to  send  it  to  them.' 

"  *  I  know  it.' 

"  *  Then,  your  Grace,  of  these  twelve  bottles  of 


io8  2)umas'  parts 

which  the  prince  royal  drank,  only  two  remain.  One 
is  in  the  cellar  of  his  Majesty  Louis  XVI.  — ' 

"*And  the  other?  ^ 

"  *  Ah,  your  Grace !  *  said  the  maitre  d'hotel,  with 
a  triumphant  smile,  for  he  felt  that,  after  the  long 
battle  he  had  been  fighting,  the  moment  of  victory 
was  at  hand,  '  the  other  one  was  stolen.' 

"'By  whom,  then?' 

"  '  By  one  of  my  friends,  the  late  king's  butler, 
who  was  under  great  obligations  to  me.' 

"  *  Oh !    and  so  he  gave  it  to  you.' 

"  *  Certainly,  your  Grace,'  said  the  maitre  d' hotel, 
with  pride. 

"  *  And  what  did  you  do  with  it? ' 

"  *  I  placed  it  carefully  in  my  master's  cellar.' 

"  *  Your  master  ?  And  who  was  your  master 
at  that  time?' 

"  '  His  Eminence  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan.' 

"  *  Ah,  mon  Dieu!  at  Strasbourg?  ' 

" '  At  Saverne.' 

"  *  And  you  have  sent  to  seek  this  bottle  for  me !  * 
cried  the  old  marshal. 

** '  For  you,  your  Grace,'  replied  the  maitre 
d' hotel  J  in  a  tone  which  plainly  said,  *  ungrateful 
as  you  are.' 

"  The  Duke  de  Richelieu  seized  the  hand  of  the 


Ube  Ipaci0  ot  Bumas  109 

old  servant,  and  cried,  *  I  beg  pardon ;   you  are  the 
king  of  maitres  d' hotel/  " 

The  French  noblesse  of  the  eighteenth  century 
may  have  had  retainers  of  the  perspicacity  and  free- 
dom of  manners  of  this  servant  of  the  Marechal  de 
Richelieu,  but  it  is  hard  to  picture  them  in  real  life 
to-day.  At  any  rate,  it  bespeaks  Dumas'  fondness 
of  good  eating  and  good  drinking  that  he  makes 
so  frequent  use  of  references  thereto,  not  only  in 
this  novel  of  a  later  day,  but  throughout  the 
mediaeval  romances  as  well. 

Dumas*  knowledge  of  gastronomy  again  finds  its 
vent  in  "  The  Count  of  Monte  Cristo,"  when  the 
unscrupulous  Danglars  is  held  in  a  dungeon  pending 
his  giving  up  the  five  millions  of  francs  which  he 
had  fraudulently  obtained. 

It  is  not  a  very  high-class  repast  that  is  dis- 
cussed, but  it  shows  at  least  Dumas'  familiarity  with 
the  food  of  man. 

"  At  twelve  the  guard  before  Danglars'  cell  was 
replaced  by  another  functionary,  and,  wishing  to 
catch  sight  of  his  new  guardian,  Danglars  ap- 
proached the  door  again.  He  was  an  athletic,  gi- 
gantic bandit,  with  large  eyes,  thick  lips,  and  a  flat 
nose;    his  red  hair  fell  in  dishevelled  masses  like 


no  2)umas'  ©arts 

snakes  around  his  shoulders.  '  Ah !  ah ! '  cried 
Danglars,  '  this  fellow  is  more  like  an  ogre  than  any- 
thing else;  however,  I  am  rather  too  old  and  tough 
to  be  very  good  eating ! '  We  see  that  Danglars 
was  quite  collected  enough  to  jest ;  at  the  same  time, 
as  though  to  disprove  the  ogreish  propensities,  the 
man  took  some  black  bread,  cheese,  and  onions  from 
his  wallet,  which  he  began  devouring  voraciously. 

*  May  I  be  hanged,'  said  Danglars,  glancing  at  the 
bandit's  dinner  through  the  crevices  of  the  door, 

*  may  I  be  hanged  if  I  can  understand  how  people 
can  eat  such  filth ! '  and  he  withdrew  to  seat  himself 
upon  his  goatskin,  which  recalled  to  him  the  smell 
of  the  brandy.  .  .  . 

"  Four  hours  passed  by,  the  giant  was  replaced 
by  another  bandit.  Danglars,  who  really  began  to 
experience  sundry  gnawings  at  the  stomach,  rose 
softly,  again  applied  his  eye  to  the  crack  of  the 
door,  and  recognized  the  intelligent  countenance  of 
his  guide.  It  was,  indeed,  Peppino,  who  was  pre- 
paring to  mount  guard  as  comfortably  as  possible 
by  seating  himself  opposite  to  the  door,  and  placing 
between  his  legs  an  earthen  pan,  containing  chick- 
pease  stewed  with  bacon.  Near  the  pan  he  also 
placed  a  pretty  little  basket  of  grapes  and  a  bottle 
of  Vin  d'Orvieto.  Peppino  was  decidedly  an  epi- 
cure.    While  witnessing  these  preparations.  Dang- 


Ubc  ipatts  ot  Dumas  m 

lars'  mouth  watered.  ...  *  I  can  almost  imagine/ 
said  he,  *  that  I  were  at  the  Cafe  de  Paris.'  " 

Dumas,  like  every  strong  personality,  had  his 
friends  and  his  enemies.  It  is  doubtful  which  class 
was  in  the  ascendency  as  to  numbers.  When  asked, 
on  one  occasion,  when  he  had  been  dining  at  the 
Cafe  de  Paris,  if  he  were  an  archaeologist,  —  he  had 
been  admiring  a  cameo  portrait  of  Julius  Caesar,  — 
he  replied,  "  No,  I  am  absolutely  nothing."  His 
partisans  were  many,  and  they  were  as  devoted  as 
his  enemies  were  jealous  and  uncharitable.  Con- 
tinuing, he  said,  "  I  admire  this  portrait  in  the 
capacity  of  Caesar's  historian."  "  Indeed,"  said  his 
interlocutor,  "  it  has  never  been  mentioned  in  the 
world  of  savants."  "  Well,"  said  Dumas,  "  the 
world  of  savants  never  mentions  me." 

This  may  be  conceit  or  modesty,  accordingly  as 
one  takes  one  view  or  another.  Dumas,  like  most 
people,  was  not  averse  to  admiration.  Far  from  it. 
He  thrived  exceedingly  on  it.  But  he  was,  as  he 
said,  very  much  alone,  and  quite  felt  a  nobody  at 
times.  Of  his  gastronomic  and  epicurean  abilities 
he  was  vainly  proud. 

The  story  is  told  of  the  sole  possession  by  Dumas 
of  a  certain  recipe  for  stewed  carp.  Veron,  the 
director  of  the  opera,  had  instructed  his  own  cook 


112 


Dumas'  iparis 


to  serve  the  celebrated  dish ;  she,  unable  to  concoct 
it  satisfactorily,  announced  her  intention  of  going 
direct  to  the  novelist  to  get  it  from  his  own  lips. 
Sophie  must  have  been  a  most  ingenious  and  well- 
informed  person,  for  she  approached  Dumas  in  all 
hostility  and  candour.  She  plunged  direct  into 
the  subject,  presuming  that  he  had  acquired  the 
knowledge  of  this  special  tidbit  from  some  outside 
source. 

Dumas  was  evidently  greatly  flattered,  and  gave 
her  every  possible  information,  but  the  experiment 
was  not  a  success,  and  the  fair  cordon-hleu  began 
to  throw  out  the  suspicion  that  Dumas  had  acquired 
his  culinary  accomplishments  from  some  other 
source  than  that  he  had  generally  admitted.  It  was 
at  this  time  that  Dumas  was  at  the  crux  of  his 
affairs  with  his  collaborators. 

Accordingly  Sophie  made  her  pronouncement 
that  it  was  with  Dumas*  cooking  as  it  was  with  his 
romances,  and  that  he  was  "  un  grand  diable  de 
vaniteux" 

At  his  home  in  the  Rue  Chaussee  d'Antin  Dumas 
served  many  an  epicurean  feast  to  his  intimates; 
preparing,  it  is  said,  everything  with  his  own  hands, 
even  to  the  stripping  of  the  cabbage-leaves  for  the 
soupe  aux  choux,  "  sleeves  rolled  up,  and  a  large 
apron  around  his  waist." 


XTbc  lParl0  of  Dumas  113 

A  favourite  menu  was  soupe  omx  choux,  the  now 
famous  carp,  a  ragout  de  mouton,  a  VHongroise; 
roti  de  faisans,  and  a  salade  Japonaise  —  whatever 
that  may  have  been;  the  ices  and  gateaux  being 
sent  in  from  a  pdtissier's. 

The  customs  of  the  theatre  in  Paris  are,  and 
always  have  been,  pecuHar.  Dumas  himself  tells 
how,  upon  one  occasion,  just  after  he  had  come 
permanently  to  live  there,  he  had  placed  himself 
beside  an  immense  queue  of  people  awaiting  ad- 
mission to  the  Porte  St.  Martin. 

He  was  not  aware  of  the  procedure  of  lining  up 
before  the  entrance-doors,  and  when  one  well  up  in 
the  line  offered  to  sell  him  his  place  for  twenty 
sous  —  held  since  midday  —  Dumas  willingly  paid 
it,  and,  not  knowing  that  it  did  not  include  ad- 
mission to  the  performance,  was  exceedingly  dis- 
traught when  the  time  came  to  actually  pay  for 
places.  This  may  seem  a  simple  matter  in  a  later 
day,  arid  to  us  who  have  become  familiar  with  similar 
conditions  in  Paris  and  elsewhere;  but  it  serves  to 
show  the  guilelessness  of  Dumas,  and  his  little  re- 
gard for  business  procedure  of  any  sort. 

The  incident  is  continued  in  his  own  words,  to 
the  effect  that  he  "  finally  purchased  a  bit  of  paste- 
board that  once  had  been  white,  which  I  presented 


114  2)umas'  parts 

to  the  check-taker  and  received  in  return  another  of 
red.  .  .  .  My  appearance  in  the  amphitheatre  of  the 
house  must  have  been  astonishing.  I  was  the  very 
latest  Villers-Cotterets  fashion,  but  a  revolution  had 
taken  place  in  Paris  which  had  not  yet  reached  my 
native  place.  My  hair  was  long,  and,  being  frizzled, 
it  formed  a  gigantic  aureole  around  my  head.  I  was 
received  with  roars  of  laughter.  ...  I  dealt  the 
foremost  scoffer  a  vigorous  slap  in  the  face,  and 
said,  at  the  same  time,  *  My  name  is  Alexandre 
Dumas.  For  to-morrow,  I  am  staying  at  the  Hotel 
des  Vieux-Augustins,  and  after  that  at  No.  i  Place 
des  Italiens.' '' 

By  some  incomprehensible  means  Dumas  was 
hustled  out  of  the  theatre  and  on  to  the  sidewalk  — 
for  disturbing  the  performance,  though  the  perform- 
ance had  not  yet  begun.  He  tried  his  luck  again, 
however,  and  this  time  bought  a  place  at  two  francs 
fifty  centimes. 

Every  visitor  to  Paris  has  recognized  the  pre- 
eminence of  the  "  Opera "  as  a  social  institution. 
The  National  Opera,  or  the  Theatre  Imperial  de 
rOpera,  as  it  was  originally  known,  in  the  Rue 
Lepelletier,  just  off  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens,  was 
the  progenitor  of  the  splendid  establishment  which 
now  terminates  the  westerly  end  of  the  Avenue 
de  rOpera.    The  more  ancient  "  Grand  Opera  "  was 


TTbe  Paris  ot  Dumas  115 

uncontestably  the  most  splendid,  the  most  pompous, 
and  the  most  influential  of  its  contemporary  institu- 
tions throughout  Europe. 

The  origin  of  the  "  Grand  Opera  "  was  as  remote 
as  the  times  of  Anne  of  Austria,  who,  it  will  be  re- 
called, had  a  most  passionate  regard  for  musique 
and  spectacle,  and  Mazarin  caused  to  be  brought 
from  Italy  musicians  who  represented  before  the 
queen  "  musical  pieces  "  which  proved  highly  suc- 
cessful. 

Later,  in  1672,  Louis  XIV.  accorded  the  privilege 
of  the  Opera  to  Lulli,  a  distinguished  musician  of 
Florence,  and  the  theatre  of  the  Palais  Royal  was 
ceded  to  the  uses  of  Academic  de  Musique. 

After  the  fire  of  1763,  the  Opera  was  transferred 
to  the  Tuileries,  but  removed  again,  because  of 
another  fire,  to  the  Porte  St.  Martin,  where  it  re- 
mained until  1794,  when  it  was  transferred  to  a 
new  house  which  had  been  constructed  for  it  in  the 
Rue  Richelieu. 

Again  in  1820  it  was  removed  to  a  new  estab- 
lishment, which  had  been  erected  on  the  site  of 
the  former  Hotel  de  Choiseul. 

This  house  had  accommodations  for  but  two 
thousand  spectators,  and,  in  spite  of  its  sumptuous- 
ness  and  rank,  was  distinctly  inferior  in  point  of 
size  to  many  opera-houses  and  theatres  elsewhere. 


ii6  Dumas'  parts 

Up  to  this  time  the  management  had  been  gov- 
erned after  the  manner  of  the  old  regime,  "  by 
three  gentlemen  erf  the  king's  own  establishment,  in 
concurrence  with  the  services  of  a  working  di- 
rector," and  the  royal  privy  purse  was  virtually  re- 
sponsible for  the  expenses.  Louis-Philippe  astutely 
shifted  the  responsibility  to  the  public  exchequer. 

In  1 83 1,  Dr.  Louis  Veron,  the  founder  of  the 
Revue  de  Paris,  —  since  supplanted  by  the  Revue 
des  Deux  Mondes,  —  became  the  manager  and 
director.  Doctor  Veron  has  been  called  as  much  the 
quintessence  of  the  life  of  Paris  of  the  first  half  of 
the  nineteenth  century  as  was  Napoleon  L  of  the 
history  of  France. 

Albert  Vandam,  the  author  of  "  An  Englishman 
in  Paris,"  significantly  enough  links  Veron's  name 
in  his  recollections  with  that  of  Dumas,  except  that 
he  places  Dumas  first. 

"  Robert  le  Diable  "  and  Taglioni  made  Veron's 
success  and  his  fortune,  though  he  himself  was  a 
master  of  publicity.  From  183 1  onward,  during 
Veron's  incumbency,  the  newspapers  contained  col- 
umn after  column  of  the  "  puff  personal,"  not  only 
with  respect  to  Veron  himself,  but  down  through  the 
galaxy  of  singers  and  dancers  to  the  veriest  stage- 
carpenter,  scenic  artist,  and  call-boy. 

The  modern  managers  have  advanced  somewhat 


Ube  lpari5  ot  2)ttma5  n; 

upon  these  premature  ejfforts;  but  then  the  art  was 
in  its  infancy,  and,  as  Veron  himself  was  a  joumahst 
and  newspaper  proprietor,  he  probably  well  under- 
stood the  gentle  art  of  exchanging  favouring  puffs 
of  one  commodity  for  those  of  another. 

These  were  the  days  of  the  first  successes  of 
Meyerbeer,  Halevy,  Auber,  and  Duprez;  of  Ta- 
glioni,  who  danced  herself  into  a  nebula  of  glory, 
and  later  into  a  shadow  which  inspired  the  spiteful 
critics  into  condemnation  of  her  waning  power. 

It  has  been  said  that  Marie  Taglioni  was  by  no 
means  a  good-looking  woman.  Indeed,  she  must 
have  been  decidedly  plain.  Her  manners,  too,  were 
apparently  not  affable,  and  "  her  reception  of  French- 
men was  freezing  to  a  degree  —  when  she  thawed  it 
was  to  Russians,  Englishmen,  or  Viennese."  "  One 
of  her  shoulders  was  higher  than  the  other,  she 
limped  slightly,  and,  moreover,  waddled  like  a 
duck."  Clearly  a  stage  setting  was  necessary  to 
show  off  her  charms.  She  was  what  the  French 
call  "  une  pimheche." 

The  architectural  effect  produced  by  the  exterior 
of  this  forerunner  of  the  present  opera  was  by  no 
means  one  of  monumental  splendour.  Its  archi- 
tect, Debret,  was  scathingly  criticized  for  its  anom- 
alies. A  newspaper  anecdote  of  the  time  recounts 
the  circumstance  of  a  provincial  who,  upon  asking 


ii8  Dumas'  ©arts 

his  way  thither,  was  met  with  the  direction,  "  That 
way  —  the  first  large  gateway  on  your  right." 

Near  by  was  the  estabHshment  of  the  famous 
Italian  restaurateur,  Paolo  Broggi,  the  resort  of 
many  singers,  and  the  Estaminet  du  Divan,  a  sort 
of  humble  counterpart  of  the  Cafe  Riche  or  the 
Cafe  des  Anglais,  but  which  proclaimed  a  much 
more  literary  atmosphere  than  many  of  the  bigger 
establishments  on  the  boulevards.  Vandam  relates 
of  this  house  of  call  that  "  it  is  a  positive  fact  that 
the  gargon  would  ask,  *  Does  monsieur  desire  Sue's 
or  Dumas'  feuilleton  with  his  cafe? '  " 

Of  the  Opera  which  was  burned  in  1781,  Dumas, 
in  "  The  Queen's  Necklace,"  has  a  chapter  devoted 
to  "  Some  Words  about  the  Opera."  It  is  an. 
interesting,  albeit  a  rather  superfluous,  interpola- 
tion in  a  romance  of  intrigue  and  adventure: 

"  The  Opera,  that  temple  of  pleasure  at  Paris, 
was  burned  in  the  month  of  June,  1781.  Twenty 
persons  had  perished  in  the  ruins;  and,  as  it  was 
the  second  time  within  eighteen  years  that  this  had 
happened,  it  created  a  prejudice  against  the  place 
where  it  then  stood,  in  the  Palais  Royal,  and  the 
king  had  ordered  its  removal  to  a  less  central  spot. 
The  place  chosen  was  La  Porte  St.  Martin. 

"  The  king,  vexed  to  see  Paris  deprived  for  so 


XTbe  Paris  ot  H)ttma0  119 

long  of  its  Opera,  became  as  sorrowful  as  if  the 
arrivals  of  grain  had  ceased,  or  bread  had  risen 
to  more  than  seven  sous  the  quartern  loaf.  It  was 
melancholy  to  see  the  nobility,  the  army,  and  the 
citizens  without  their  after-dinner  amusement ;  and 
to  see  the  promenades  thronged  with  the  unem- 
ployed divinities,  from  the  chorus-singers  to  the 
prima  donnas. 

"  An  architect  was  then  introduced  to  the  king, 
full  of  new  plans,  who  promised  so  perfect  a  ventila- 
tion, that  even  in  case  of  fire  no  one  could  be 
smothered.  He  would  make  eight  doors  for  exit, 
besides  five  large  windows  placed  so  low  that  any 
one  could  jump  out  of  them.  In  the  place  of  the 
beautiful  hall  of  Moreau  he  was  to  erect  a  building 
with  ninety-six  feet  of  frontage  toward  the  boule- 
vard, ornamented  with  eight  caryatides  on  pillars 
forming  three  entrance-doors,  a  bas-relief  above  the 
capitals,  and  a  gallery  with  three  windows.  The 
stage  was  to  be  thirty-six  feet  wide,  the  theatre 
seventy-two  feet  deep  and  eighty  across,  from  one 
wall  to  the  other.  He  asked  only  seventy-five  days 
and  nights  before  he  opened  it  to  the  public. 

"  This  appeared  to  all  a  mere  gasconade,  and  was 
much  laughed  at.  The  king,  however,  concluded 
the  agreement  with  him.  Lenoir  set  to  work,  and 
kept  his  word.    But  the  public  feared  that  a  building 


I20  Dumas'  parts 

so  quickly  erected  could  not  be  safe,  and  when  it 
opened  no  one  would  go. 

"  Even  the  few  courageous  ones  who  did  go  to 
the  first  representation  of  '  Adele  de  Ponthieu  '  made 
their  wills  first.  The  architect  was  in  despair.  He 
came  to  the  king  to  consult  him  as  to  what  was  to 
be  done. 

"  It  was  just  after  the  birth  of  the  dauphin;  all 
Paris  was  full  of  joy.  The  king  advised  him  to 
announce  a  gratuitous  performance  in  honour  of  the 
event,  and  give  a  ball  after.  Doubtless  plenty  would 
come,  and  if  the  theatre  stood,  its  safety  was  estab- 
lished. 

"  *  Thanks,  Sire,*  said  the  architect. 

"  *  But  reflect,  first,'  said  the  king,  *  if  there  be  a 
crowd,  are  you  sure  of  your  building  ? ' 

"  *  Sire,  I  am  sure,  and  shall  go  there  myself.' 

"  *  I  will  go  to  the  second  representation,'  said 
the  king. 

"  The  architect  followed  this  advice.  They  played 
*  Adele  de  Ponthieu '  to  three  thousand  spectators, 
who  afterward  danced.  After  this  there  could  be 
no  more  fear." 

It  was  three  years  after  that  Madame  and  the  car- 
dinal went  to  the  celebrated  ball,  the  account  of  which 
follows  in  the  subsequent  chapter  of  the  romance. 


XTbc  Paris  ot  Dumas  121 

Dumas  as  a  dramatist  was  not  so  very  different 
from  Dumas  the  novelist.  When  he  first  came  to 
Paris  the  French  stage  was  by  no  means  at  a  low 
and  stagnant  ebb  —  at  least,  it  was  not  the  thin, 
watery  concoction  that  many  English  writers  would 
have  us  believe ;  and,  furthermore,  the  world's  great 
dramatist  —  Shakespeare  —  had  been  and  was  still 
influencing  and  inspiring  the  French  playwright  and 
actor  alike. 

It  was  the  "  Hamlet "  of  Ducis  —  a  very  French 
Hamlet,  but  still  Hamlet  —  and  the  memory  of 
an  early  interview  with  Talma  that  first  set  fire 
to  the  fuel  of  the  stage-fever  which  afterward 
produced  Dumas  the  dramatist. 

Dumas  was  not  always  truthful,  or,  at  least,  cor- 
rect, in  his  facts,  but  he  did  not  offend  exceedingly, 
and  he  was  plausible;  as  much  so,  at  any  rate,  as 
Scott,  who  had  erred  to  the  extent  of  fifteen  years 
in  his  account  of  the  death  of  Amy  Robsart. 

In  1824  was  born  Alexandre  Dumas  iils,  and  at 
this  time  the  parent  was  collaborating  with  Soulie 
in  an  attempted,  but  unfinished,  dramatization  of 
Scott's  "  Old  Mortality." 

By  1830,  after  he  had  left  official  work,  Dumas 
had  produced  that  drama  of  the  Valois,  "  Henri 
III.,"  at  the  Theatre  Frangais,  where  more 
than  a  century  before  Voltaire  had  produced  his 


122  H)umas'  Paris 

first  play,  "  CEdipe,"  and  where  the  "  Hemani  "  of 
Victor  Hugo  had  just  been  produced. 

It  was  a  splendid  and  gorgeous  event,  and  the 
adventures  of  the  Duchesse  de  Guise,  St.  Megrin, 
Henri  HI.  and  his  satellites  proved  to  the  large 
and  distinguished  audience  present  no  inconspic- 
uous element  in  the  success  of  the  future  king  of 
romance.  It  was  a  veritable  triumph,  and  for  the 
time  the  author  was  more  talked  of  and  better 
known  than  was  Hugo,  whO'  had  already  entered  the 
arena,  but  whose  assured  fame  scarcely  dates  from 
before  "  Hemani,"  whose  first  presentation  — 
though  it  was  afterward  performed  over  three  hun- 
dred times  in  the  same  theatre  —  was  in  February 
of  the  same  year. 

Voltaire  had  been  dead  scarce  a  half-century, 
but  already  the  dust  lay  thick  on  his  dramatic 
works,  and  the  world  of  Paris  was  looking  eagerly 
forward  to  the  achievements  of  the  new  school. 
One  cannot  perhaps  claim  for  Dumas  that  he  was 
in  direct  lineage  of  Shakespeare,  —  as  was  claimed 
for  Hugo,  and  with  some  merit,  —  but  he  was  un- 
doubtedly one  of  the  first  of  the  race  of  the  popular 
French  playwrights  whose  fame  is  perpetuated  to- 
day by  Sardou.  At  any  rate,  it  was  a  classic 
struggle  which  was  inaugurated  in  France  —  by 
literature  and  the  drama  —  in  the  early  half  of  the 


d'artagnan 

From  the  Dumas  Statue  by  Gustave  Dore 


XTbe  Paris  ot  Bumas  123 

nineteenth  century,  and  one  which  was  a  frank 
rebellion  against  the  rigid  rules  by  which  their  arts 
had  been  restrained  —  especially  dramatic  art. 

With  all  due  credit,  then,  to  Hugo,  it  was  Dumas 
who  led  the  romanticists  through  the  breach  that 
was  slowly  opening;  though  at  the  same  time  one 
may  properly  enough  recall  the  names  of  Alfred 
de  Musset,  Theophile  Gautier,  and  Gerard  de 
Nerval. 

Dumas'  next  play  was  in  "  classical  form "  — 
"  Christine." 

Mere  chance  brought  Dumas  into  an  acquaint- 
ance with  the  history  of  Christine  of  Sweden,  and, 
though  the  play  was  written  and  accepted  before 
*'  Henri  IH.  et  Sa  Cour,"  it  was  not  until  some 
time  later  that  it  was  produced  at  the  Odeon;  the 
recollection  of  which  also  brings  up  the  name  of 
Mile.  Mars. 

The  statue  in  Paris  in  the  Place  Malesherbes, 
erected  to  the  memory  of  Dumas,  has  been  highly 
commended  in  conception  and  execution.  It  was 
the  work  of  Gustave  Dore,  and,  truth  to  tell,  it 
has  some  wonderfully  effective  sculptures  in  bronze. 
A  group  of  three  symbolical  figures  en  face,  and  a 
lifelike  and  life-sized  representation  of  the  coura- 
geous  D'Artagnan    d'arriere.      These    details   are 


124  Dumas*  pads 

charming  when  reproduced  on  paper  by  process  of 
photography  or  the  hand  of  an  artist.  Indeed, 
they  are  of  much  the  same  quaHty  when  viewed  as 
details,  but  in  the  ensemble,  combined  with  a  cold, 
inartistic  base  or  pedestal,  which  is  crowned  by  a 
seated  effigy  of  Dumas  —  also  life-size  —  clad  in 
the  unlovely  raiment  of  the  latter  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, there  is  much  to  be  desired. 

Statues,  be  they  bronze  or  marble,  are  often  ar- 
tistically successful  when  their  figures  are  covered 
with  picturesque  mediaeval  garments,  but  they  are 
invariably  a  failure,  in  an  artistic  sense,  when 
clothed  in  latter-day  garb.  Doublet  and  hose,  and 
sword  and  cloak  lend  themselves  unmistakably  to 
artistic  expression.  Trousers  and  top-hats  do  not. 
Just  back  of  the  Place  Malesherbes  is  the  Avenue 
de  Villiers  —  a  street  of  fine  houses,  many  of  them 
studio  apartments,  of  Paris's  most  famous  artists. 
Here  at  No.  94  lived  Alexandre  Dumas  during  the 
later  years  of  his  life ;  so  it  is  fitting  that  his  monu- 
ment should  be  placed  in  this  vicinity.  The  house 
was  afterward  occupied  by  Dumas  His,  and  more 
lately  by  his  widow,  but  now  it  has  passed  into 
other  hands. 

Of  interest  to  Americans  is  the  fact  which  has 
been  recorded  by  some  one  who  was  au  couranf 
with  Parisian  affairs  of  the  day,  "  that  the  United 


Ube  parts  ot  2)umas  125 

States  Minister  to  France,  Mr.  John  Bigelow, 
breakfasted  with  Dumas  at  St.  Gratien,  near  Paris," 
when  it  came  out  that  he  (Dumas)  had  a  notion 
to  go  out  to  America  as  a  war  correspondent  for 
the  French  papers;  the  Civil  War  was  not  then 
over.  Unhappily  for  all  of  us,  he  did  not  go,  and 
so  a  truly  great  book  was  lost  to  the  world. 

In  this  same  connection  it  has  been  said  that 
Dumas'  "  quadroon  autographs  "  were  sold  in  the 
United  States,  to  provide  additional  funds  for  the 
widows  and  orphans  of  slain  abolitionists.  As  it  is 
apocryphally  said  that  they  sold  for  a  matter  of  a 
hundred  and  twenty  dollars  each,  the  sum  must 
have  reached  considerable  proportions,  if  their 
number  was  great. 


CHAPTER   VI. 


OLD   PARIS 


rHE    Paris    of    Dumas    was    Meryon's  — 
though  it  is  well  on  toward  a  half-cen- 
tury since  either  of  them  saw  it.     Hence 
it  is  no  longer  theirs ;  but  the  master  romancer  and 
the  master  etcher  had  much  in  common. 

They  both  drew  with  a  fine,  free  hand,  the  one 
in  words  that  bum  themselves  in  the  memory,  and 
the  other  in  lines  which,  once  bitten  on  the  copper 
plate,  are  come  down  to  us  in  indelible  fashion. 
The  mention  of  Meryon  and  his  art  is  no  mere 
rambling  of  the  pen.  Like  that  of  Dumas,  his  art 
depicted  those  bold,  broad  impressions  which  re- 
built "  old  Paris "  in  a  manner  which  is  only 
comparable  to  the  background  which  Dumas  gave  to 
"  Les  Trois  Mousquetaires." 

The  iconoclastic  Haussman  caused  much  to  dis- 
appear, and  it  is  hard  to  trace  the  footsteps  of  many 
a  character  of  history  and  romance,  whose  incom- 

126 


©lb  Paris  127 

ings  and  outgoings  are  otherwise  very  familiar  to 
us. 

There  are  many  distinct  cities  which  go  to  make 
up  Paris  itself,  each  differing  from  the  other,  but 
Dumas  and  Meryon  drew  them  each  and  all  with 
unerring  fidelity:  Dumas  the  University  Quarter 
and  the  faubourgs  in  "  Les  Trois  Mousquetaires," 
and  Meryon  the  Cite  in  "  The  Stryge." 

The  sheer  beauty  and  charm  of  old-world  Paris 
was  never  more  strongly  suggested  than  in  the  work 
of  these  two  masters,  who  have  given  a  perma- 
nence to  the  abodes  of  history  and  romance  w^hich 
would  otherwise  have  been  wanting.  It  is  a  pleas- 
urable occupation  to  hunt  up  the  dwellings  of 
those  personages  who  may,  or  may  not,  have  lived 
in  the  real  flesh  and  blood.  The  mere  fact  that  they 
lived  in  the  pages  of  a  Dumas  —  or  for  that  matter 
of  a  Balzac  or  a  Hugo  —  is  excuse  enough  for  most 
of  us  to  seek  to  follow  in  their  footsteps. 

In  spite  of  the  splendour  of  the  present  and  the 
past,  Paris  is  by  no  means  too  great  to  prevent 
one's  tracing  its  old  outlines,  streets,  and  landmarks, 
even  though  they  have  disappeared  to-day,  and  the 
site  of  the  famous  Hotel  Chevreuse  or  the  Carmelite 
establishment  in  the  Rue  Vaugirard  —  against 
whose  wall  D'Artagnan  and  his  fellows  put  up  that 
gallant  fight  against  the  cardinal's  guard  —  are  in 


128  Dumas'  Paris 

the  same  geographical  positions  that  they  always 
were,  if  their  immediate  surroundings  have  changed, 
as  they  assuredly  have. 

Indeed,  the  sturdy  wall  which  kept  the  Carmelite 
friars  from  contact  with  the  outer  world  has  be- 
come a  mere  hoarding  for  gaudily  coloured  posters, 
and  the  magnificent  Hotel  Qievreuse  on  the  Boule- 
vard St.  Germain  has  been  incorporated  into  a 
modem  apartment-house,  and  its  garden  cut 
through  by  the  Boulevard  Raspail. 

The  destruction  of  "  Old  Paris  "  —  the  gabled, 
half-timbered,  mediaeval  city  —  is  not  only  an  ar- 
tistic regret,  but  a  personal  one  to  all  who  know 
intimately  the  city's  history  and  romance.  It  was 
inevitable,  of  course,  but  it  is  deplorable. 

Meryon,  too,  like  Dumas,  etched  details  with  a 
certain  regard  for  effect  rather  than  a  colder  pre- 
ciseness,  which  could  hardly  mean  so  much  as  an 
impression  of  a  mood.  They  both  sought  the  pic- 
turesque element,  and  naturally  imparted  to  every- 
thing modern  with  which  they  came  into  contact 
the  same  charm  of  reality  which  characterized  the 
tangible  results  of  their  labours. 

Nothing  was  left  to  chance,  though  much  may 
—  we  have  reason  to  think  —  have  been  sponta- 
neous.    The  witchery  of  a  picturesque  impression 


01^  Paris  129 

is  ever  great,  but  the  frequency  of  its  occurrence 
is  growing  less  and  less. 

To-day  we  have  few  romancers,  few  painters  or 
etchers  of  fleeting  moods  or  impressions,  and  are 
fast  becoming  schooled  in  the  tenets  of  Zola  and 
Baudry,  to  the  glorification  of  realism,  but  to  the 
death  and  deep  burial  of  the  far  more  healthy  ro- 
manticism of  the  masters  of  a  few  generations 
since. 

To  the  Roman  occupation  of  Paris  succeeded 
that  of  the  Franks,  and  Clovis,  son  of  Childerie 
and  grandson  of  Merovee,  after  his  conversion  to 
Christianity  at  Reims,  established  the  seat  of  his 
empire  at  Paris. 

Childebert,  the  descendant  of  Clovis,  —  who  had 
taken  unto  himself  the  title  King  of  Paris,  —  in 
524  laid  the  foundation  of  the  first  £glise  de  Notre 
Dame. 

The  kings  of  the  second  race  lived  in  Paris  but 
little,  and  under  the  feeble  successors  of  Charle- 
magne the  city  became  the  particular  domain  of 
the  hereditary  counts.  In  the  year  845  the  Nor- 
mans came  up  the  river  by  boat  and  razed  all  of 
that  part  known  even  to-day  as  La  Cite,  hence  the 
extreme  improbability  of  there  being  existing  re- 
mains of  an  earlier  date  than  this,  which  are  to-day 


I30  Dumaa'  pads 

recognizable.  After  successive  disasters  and  inva- 
sions, it  became  necessary  that  new  quartiers  and 
new  streets  should  be  formed  and  populated,  and 
under  the  reign  of  Louis  VII.  the  walls  were  ex- 
tended to  include,  on  the  right  bank,  Le  Bourg 
I'Abbe,  Le  Bourg  Thibourg,  Le  Beau-Bourg,  Le 
Bourg  St.  Martin,  —  regions  which  have  since  been 
occupied  by  the  Rues  St.  Martin,  Beaubourg,  Bour- 
tebourg,  and  Bourg  TAbbe,  —  and,  on  the  left 
bank,  St.  Germain  des  Pres,  St.  Victor,  and  St. 
Michel. 

Since  this  time  Paris  has  been  divided  into  three 
distinct  parts :  La  Ville,  to  the  north  of  the  Seine, 
La  Cite,  in  the  centre,  and  L^Universite,  in  the 
south. 

The  second  enceinte  did  not  long  suffice  to  en- 
close the  habitations  of  the  people,  and  in  the  year 
1 190  Philippe- Auguste  constructed  the  third  wall, 
which  was  strengthened  by  five  hundred  towers 
and  surrounded  by  a  deep  fosse,  perpetuated  to-day 
as  the  Rempart  des  Fosses.  At  this  time  the  first 
attempts  were  made  at  paving  the  city  streets,  prin- 
cipally at  the  instigation  of  the  wealthy  Gerard  de 
Poissy,  whose  name  has  since  been  given  to  an 
imposing  street  on  the  south  bank. 

Again,  in  1356,  the  famous  Etienne  Marcel 
commenced  the  work  of  the  fourth  enceinte.     On 


01^  parid  131 

the  south,  the  walls  were  not  greatly  extended,  but 
on  the  north  they  underwent  a  considerable  ag- 
grandizement. Fortified  gateways  were  erected  at 
the  extremity  of  the  Rue  de  St.  Antoine,  and  others 
were  known  variously  as  the  Porte  du  Temple  and 
Porte  St.  Denis.  Other  chief  features  of  the  time 
—  landmarks  one  may  call  them  —  were  the  Porte 
St.  Honore,  which  was  connected  with  the  river- 
bank  by  a  prolonged  wall,  the  Tour  du  Bois,  and 
a  new  fortification  —  as  a  guardian  against  inter- 
nal warfare,  it  would  seem  —  at  the  upper  end  of 
the  He  de  la  Cite. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XL  the 
city  had  become  repeopled,  after  many  preceding 
years  of  flood,  ravage,  and  famine,  and  contained, 
it  is  said,  nearly  three  hundred  thousand  souls. 

From  this  reign,  too,  dates  the  establishment  of 
the  first  printing-shop  in  Paris,  the  letter-post,  and 
the  poste-chaise.  Charles  VIII.,  the  son  of  Louis 
XL,  united  with  the  Bibliotheque  Royal  those  of 
the  Kings  of  Naples. 

Louis  XII.,  who  followed,  did  little  to  beautify 
the  city,  but  his  parental  care  for  the  inhabitants 
reduced  the  income  of  the  tax-gatherer  and  en- 
deared his  name  to  all  as  the  Pere  du  Peuple. 

Frangois  I.  —  whose  glorious  name  as  tHe  insti- 
gator of  much  that  has  since  become  national  in 


132  Dumas'  lPar(5 

French  art  —  considerably  enlarged  the  fortifica- 
tions on  the  west,  and  executed  the  most  momen- 
tous embellishments  which  had  yet  taken  place  in 
the  city.  In  public  edifices  he  employed,  or  caused 
his  architects  to  employ,  the  Greek  orders,  and  the 
paintings  by  Italian  hands  and  the  sculptures  of 
Goujon  were  the  highest  expressions  of  the  art  of 
the  Renaissance,  which  had  grown  so  abundantly 
from  the  seed  sown  by  Charles  VIII.  upon  his  re- 
turn from  his  wanderings  in  Italy. 

It  may  be  questioned  if  the  art  of  the  Renais- 
sance is  really  beautiful;  it  is,  however,  unde- 
niably effective  in  its  luxuriant,  if  often  ill-assorted, 
details;  so  why  revile  it  here?  It  was  the  prime 
cause,  more  than  all  others  put  together,  of  the 
real  adornment  of  Paris;  and,  in  truth,  was  far 
more  successful  in  the  application  of  its  principles 
here  than  elsewhere. 

During  the  reign  of  Frangois  I.  were  built,  or 
rebuilt,  the  great  ^figlises  de  St.  Gervais,  St.  Ger- 
main TAuxerrois,  and  St.  Merry,  as  well  as  the 
Hotel  de  Ville.  The  Louvre  was  reconstructed  on 
a  new  plan,  and  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain  was 
laid  out  anew. 

Under  Henri  II.  the  work  on  the  Louvre  was 
completed,  and  the  Hopital  des  Petites  Maisons 
constructed.     It  was  Henri  II.,  too,  who  first  or- 


Olb  parts  133 

dained  that  the  effigies  of  the  kings  should  be  placed 
upon  all  coins. 

The  principal  edifices  built  under  Charles  IX. 
were  the  Palais  des  Tuileries,  Hotel  de  Soissons, 
the  Jesuit  College,  and  the  Hopital  du  St.  Jacques 
du  Haut  Pas. 

Henri  HI.  erected  the  church  of  the  Jesuits  in  the 
Rue  St.  Antoine,  the  %lise  de  St.  Paul  et  St. 
Louis,  the  Monastere  des  Feuillants,  the  Hotel  de 
Bourgogne,  and  the  Theatre  Italien. 

Under  Henri  IV.  was  achieved  the  Pont  Neuf, 
whose  centre  piers  just  impinge  upon  the  lower  end 
of  the  He  de  la  Cite;  the  Quais  de  T Arsenal,  de 
THorloge,  des  Orphelins,  de  I'Ecole,  de  la  Megis- 
serie,  de  Conti,  and  des  Augustins;  la  Place 
Dauphine,  and  the  Rue  Dauphine.  The  Place 
Royale  came  to  replace  —  in  the  Quartier  du 
Marais  —  the  old  Palais  des  Tournelles,  the  pleasure 
of  so  many  kings,  Frangois  I.  in  particular. 

Louis  XIII.,  the  feeble  king  who  reigned  with- 
out governing,  saw  many  improvements,  which, 
however,  grew  up  in  spite  of  the  monarch  rather 
than  because  of  him. 

There  was  a  general  furbishing  up  of  the  streets 
and  quais.  Marie  de  Medicis  built  the  Palais  du 
Luxembourg  and  planted  the  Cours  la  Reine ;  many 
new  bridges  were  constructed  and  new  monuments 


134  Dumas'  parts 

set  up,  among  others  the  Palais  Royal,  at  this  time 
called  the  Palais  Cardinal ;  the  £glise  St.  Roch ;  the 
Oratoire;  le  Val-de-Grace ;  les  Madelonnettes ;  la 
Salpetriere;  the  Sorbonne,  and  the  Jardin  des 
Plantes.  Many  public  places  were  also  decorated 
with  statues:  the  effigy  of  Henri  IV.  was  placed 
on  the  Pont  Neuf,  and  of  Louis  XII.  in  the  Place 
Royale. 

By  this  time  the  population  had  overflowed  the 
walls  of  Philippe-Auguste,  already  enlarged  by 
Frangois  L,  and  Louis  XIV.  overturned  their 
towers  and  ramparts,  and  filled  their  fosses,  be- 
lieving that  a  strong  commimity  needed  no  such 
protections. 

These  ancient  fortifications  were  replaced  by  the 
boulevards  which  exist  even  unto  to-day  —  not  only 
in  Paris,  but  in  most  French  towns  and  cities  — 
unequalled  elsewhere  in  all  the  world. 

Up  to  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  the  population 
of  Paris  had,  for  the  most  part,  been  lodged  in 
narrow,  muddy  streets,  which  had  subjected  them 
to  many  indescribable  discomforts.  Meanwhile, 
during  the  glorious  reign  of  Louis  XIV.,  Paris 
achieved  great  extension  of  area  and  splendour; 
many  new  streets  were  opened  in  the  different  qiuir- 
tiers,  others  were  laid  out  anew  or  abolished  alto- 
gether,  more  than  thirty  churches  were  built,  — 


PONT  NEUF.  — PONT  AU  CHANGE 


01^  IPartB  135 

"  all  highly  beautiful,"  say  the  guide-books.  But 
they  are  not:  Paris  churches  taken  together  are  a 
decidedly  mixed  lot,  some  good  in  parts  and  yet 
execrable  in  other  parts,  and  many  even  do  not 
express  any  intimation  whatever  of  good  architec- 
tural forms. 

The  Pont  au  Change  was  rebuilt,  and  yet  four 
other  bridges  were  made  necessary  to  permit  of 
better  circulation  between  the  various  faubourgs 
and  quartiers. 

To  the  credit  of  Louis  XIV.  must  also  be  put 
down  the  Hotel  des  Invalides,  the  Observatoire,  the 
magnificent  colonnade  of  the  Louvre,  the  Pont 
Royal,  the  College  des  Quatre  Nations,  the  Biblio- 
theque  Royale,  numerous  fountains  and  statues,  the 
royal  glass,  porcelain,  and  tapestry  manufactories, 
the  Arc  de  Triomphe  du  Carrousel,  and  the  Boule- 
vards St.  Denis  and  St.  Martin. 

Saint  Foix  (in  his  "  Essais  sur  Paris  ")  has  said 
that  it  was  Louis  XIV.  who  first  gave  to  the  reign 
of  a  French  monarch  the  eclat  of  grandeur  and 
magnificence,  not  only  for  his  court,  but  for  his 
capital  and  his  people. 

Under  the  succeeding  reign  of  Louis  XV.  the 
beautifying  of  Paris  took  another  flight.  On  the 
place  which  first  bore  the  name  of  the  monarch 
himself,  but  which  is  to-day  known  as  the  Place 


136  S)uma5'  Paris 

de  la  Concorde,  were  erected  a  pair  of  richly  dec- 
orated monuments  which  quite  rivalled  in  achieve- 
ment the  superb  colonnaded  Louvre  of  the  previous 
reign,  the  Champs  Elysees  were  replanted,  the  ficole 
Militaire,  the  ficole  de  Droit,  and  the  Hotel  de  la 
Monnaie  were  erected,  and  still  other  additional 
boulevards  and  magnificent  streets  were  planned 
out. 

A  new  church  came  into  being  with  St.  Gene- 
vieve, which  afterward  became  the  Pantheon. 

The  reign  following  saw  the  final  achievement  of 
all  these  splendid  undertakings;  then  came  the 
Revolution,  that  political  terror  which  would  have 
upset  all  established  institutions;  and  if  Paris,  the 
city  of  splendid  houses,  did  not  become  merely  a 
cemetery  of  tombs,  it  was  not  because  maniacal 
fanaticism  and  fury  were  lacking. 

Religious,  civic,  and  military  establishments  were 
razed,  demolished,  or  burnt,  regardless  of  their 
past  associations  or  present  artistic  worth. 

In  a  way,  however,  these  sacrilegious  demoli- 
tions gave  cause  to  much  energetic  rebuilding  and 
laying  out  of  the  old  city  anew,  in  the  years 
immediately  succeeding  the  period  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, which  as  an  historical  event  has  no  place  in 
this  book  other  than  mere  mention,  as  it  may  have 
been  referred  to  by  Dumas. 


®l^  parts  137 

It  was  Napoleon  who  undertook  the  rehabiHtation 
of  Paris,  with  an  energy  and  foresight  only  equalled 
by  his  prowess  as  a  master  of  men. 

He  occupied  himself  above  all  with  what  the 
French  themselves  would  call  those  monuments  et 
decorations  utiles,  as  might  be  expected  of  his  abil- 
ities as  an  organizer.  The  canal  from  the  river  Ourcq 
through  La  Villette  to  the  Seine  was,  at  the  Fosses 
de  la  Bastille,  cleared  and  emptied  of  its  long  stag- 
nant waters;  abattoirs  were  constructed  in  con- 
venient places,  in  order  to  do  away  with  the  vast 
herds  of  cattle  which  for  centuries  had  been  paraded 
through  the  most  luxurious  of  the  city's  streets; 
new  markets  were  opened,  and  numerous  fountains 
and  watering-troughs  were  erected  in  various  parts 
of  the  city;  four  new  and  ornate  bridges  were 
thrown  across  the  Seine,  the  magnificent  Rues  Cas- 
tiglione  and  de  la  Paix,  extending  from  the  Tuile- 
ries  to  the  interior  boulevards,  were  opened  up; 
the  Place  Vendome  was  then  endowed  with  its 
bronze  column,  which  stands  to-day;  the  splendid 
and  utile  Rue  de  Rivoli  was  made  beside  the  garden 
of  the  Tuilerles  (it  has  since  been  prolonged 
to  the  Hotel  de  Ville). 

Napoleon  also  founded  the  Palais  de  la  Bourse 
(1808),  and  caused  to  be  erected  a  superb  iron 


13S  Dumas'  Paris 

grille  which  should  separate  the  Place  du  Carrousel 
from  the  Tuileries. 

Under  the  Restoration  little  happened  with  re- 
gard to  the  beautifying  and  aggrandizing  of  the  city, 
though  certain  improvements  of  a  purely  economic 
and  social  nature  made  their  own  way. 

The  literature  and  art  of  Dumas  and  his  compeers 
were  making  such  sturdy  progress  as  to  give  Paris 
that  preeminence  in  these  finer  elements  of  life, 
which,  before  or  since,  has  not  been  equalled  else- 
where. 

Since  the  Revolution  of  1830  have  been  com- 
pleted the  Arc  de  Triomphe  de  I'Etoile  (com- 
menced by  Napoleon  I.),  the  figlise  de  la  Madeleine, 
the  fine  hotel  of  the  Quai  d'Orsay,  the  Palais  des 
Beaux  Arts,  the  restoration  of  the  Chambre  des 
Deputes  (the  old  Palais  Bourbon),  and  the  statues 
set  up  in  the  Place  de  la  Concorde;  though  it  is 
only  since  the  ill-starred  Franco-Prussian  affaire  of 
187 1  that  Strasbourg's  doleful  figure  has  been 
buried  in  jet  and  alabaster  sentiments,  so  dear  to 
the  Frenchman  of  all  ranks,  as  an  outward  ex- 
pression of  grief. 

At  the  commencement  of  the  Second  Empire  the 
fortifications,  as  they  then  existed,  possessed  a  cir- 
cumference of  something  above  thirty-three  kilo- 
metres —  approximately  nineteen  miles.    The  walls 


Qlb  iparts  139 

are  astonishingly  thick,  and  their  fosses  wide  and 
deep.  The  surrounding  exterior  forts  ''  de  distance 
en  distance"  are  a  unique  feature  of  the  general 
scheme  of  defence,  and  played,  as  it  will  be  recalled, 
no  unimportant  part  in  the  investiture  of  the  city 
by  the  Germans  in  the  seventies. 

A  French  writer  of  the  early  days  of  the  last 
Empire  says :  "  These  new  fortifications  are  in  their 
ensemble  a  gigantic  work."  They  are,  indeed  — 
though,  in  spite  of  their  immensity,  they  do  not 
impress  the  lay  observer  even  as  to  impregnability 
as  do  the  wonderful  walls  and  ramparts  of  Car- 
cassonne, or  dead  Aigues-Mortes  in  the  Midi  of 
France;  those  wonderful  somnolent  old  cities  of  a 
glorious  past,  long  since  departed. 

The  fortifications  of  Paris,  however,  are  a  won- 
derfully utile  thing,  and  must  ever  have  an  un- 
fathomable interest  for  all  who  have  followed  their 
evolution  from  the  restricted  battlements  of  the 
early  Roman  city. 

The  Parisian  has,  perhaps,  cause  to  regret  that 
these  turf-covered  battlements  somewhat  restrict 
his  '^  promenades  environnantes"  but  what  would 
you?  Once  outside,  through  any  of  the  gateways, 
the  Avenue  de  la  Grande  Armee, — which  is  the  most 
splendid,  —  or  the  Porte  du  Canal  de  I'Ourcq,  — 
which  is  the  least  luxurious,  though  by  no  means 


I40  Dumas'  Paris 

is  it  unpicturesque ;  indeed,  it  has  more  of  that 
variable  quaHty,  perhaps,  than  any  other,  —  one 
comes  into  the  charm  of  the  French  countryside; 
that  is,  if  he  knows  in  which  direction  to  turn. 
At  any  rate,  he  comes  immediately  into  contact 
with  a  life  which  is  quite  different  from  any  phase 
which  is  to  be  seen  within  the  barrier. 

From  the  Revolution  of  1848  to  the  first  years 
of  the  Second  Empire,  which  ought  properly  to  be 
treated  by  itself,  —  and  so  shall  be,  —  there  came 
into  being  many  and  vast  demolitions  and  improve- 
ments. 

Paris  was  a  vast  atelier  of  construction,  where 
agile  minds  conceived,  and  the  artisan  and  crafts- 
man executed,  monumental  glories  and  improve- 
ments which  can  only  be  likened  to  the  focusing 
of  the  image  upon  the  ground  glass. 

The  prolongation  of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  was  put 
through;  the  Boulevards  Sebastopol,  Malesherbes, 
—  where  in  the  Place  Malesherbes  is  that  appealing 
monument  to  Dumas  by  Gustave  Dore,  —  du  Prince 
Eugene,  St.  Germain,  Magenta,  the  Rue  des  ficoles, 
and  many  others.  All  of  which  tended  to  change 
the  very  face  and  features  of  the  Paris  the  world 
had  known  hitherto. 

The  "  Caserne  Napoleon  "  had  received  its  guests, 
and  the  Tour  St.  Jacques,  from  which  point  of 


®l^  parts  141 

vantage  the  "  clerk  of  the  weather  "  to-day  prognos- 
ticates for  Paris,  had  been  restored.  Magnificent 
estabHshments  of  all  sorts  and  ranks  had  been  built, 
the  Palais  de  I'lndustrie  (since  razed)  had  opened 
its  doors  to  the  work  of  all  nations,  in  the  exhibition 
of  1855. 

Of  Paris,  one  may  well  concentrate  one's  estimate 
in  five  words :  "  Each  epoch  has  been  rich,"  also 
prolific,  in  benefits,  intentions,  and  creations  of  all 
manner  of  estimable  and  admirable  achievements. 

By  favour  of  these  efforts  of  all  the  reigns  and 
governments  which  have  gone  before,  the  Paris 
of  to-day  in  its  architectural  glories,  its  monuments 
in  stone,  and  the  very  atmosphere  of  its  streets, 
places,  and  boulevards,  is  assuredly  the  most  mar- 
vellous of  all  the  cities  of  Europe. 

It  may  not  be  an  exceedingly  pleasant  subject,  but 
there  is,  and  always  has  been,  a  certain  fascination 
about  a  visit  to  a  cemetery  which  ranks,  in  the 
minds  of  many  well-informed  and  refined  persons, 
far  above  even  the  contemplation  of  great  churches 
themselves. 

It  may  be  a  morbid  taste,  or  it  may  not.  Cer- 
tainly there  seems  to  be  no  reason  why  a  consid- 
erable amount  of  really  valuable  facts  might  not 
be  impressed  upon  the  retina  of  a  traveller  who 


142  Dumas'  Paris 

should  do  the  round  of  Campos  Santos,  Cimetiires 
and  burial-grounds  in  various  lands. 

In  this  respect,  as  in  many  others,  Paris  leads 
the  way  for  sheer  interest  in  its  tombs  and  sepul- 
chres, at  Montmartre  and  Pere  la  Chaise. 

In  no  other  burial-ground  in  the  world  —  unless 
it  be  Mount  Auburn,  near  Boston,  where,  if  the 
world-wide  name  and  fame  of  those  there  buried 
are  not  so  great  as  those  at  Paris,  their  names  are 
at  least  as  much  household  words  to  English-speak- 
ing folk,  as  are  those  of  the  old-world  resting- 
place  to  the  French  themselves  —  are  to  be  found 
so  many  celebrated  names. 

There  are  a  quartette  of  these  famous  resting- 
places  at  Paris  which,  since  the  coming  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  have  had  an  absorbing  interest  for 
the  curiously  inclined.  Pere  la  Chaise,  Montmartre, 
the  royal  sepulchres  in  the  old  abbey  church  of  St. 
Denis,  and  the  churchyard  of  St.  Innocents. 

"  Man,"  said  Sir  Thomas  Brown,  "  is  a  noble 
animal,  splendid  in  ashes,  and  pompous  in  the 
grave."  Why  this  should  be  so,  it  is  not  the  prov- 
ince of  this  book  to  explain,  nor  even  to  justify 
the  gorgeous  and  ill-mannered  monuments  which 
are  often  erected  over  his  bones. 

The  catacombs  of  Paris  are  purposely  ignored 
here,  as  appealing  to  a  special  variety  of  morbidity 


Olt>  parts  143 

which  is  as  unpleasant  to  deal  with  and  to  contem- 
plate as  are  snakes  preserved  in  spirit,  and  as  would 
be  —  were  we  allowed  to  see  them  —  the  sacred 
human  reliques  which  are  preserved,  even  to-day,  at 
various  pilgrims'  shrines  throughout  the  Christian 
world.  That  vast  royal  sepulchre  of  the  abbey  church 
of  St.  Denis,  which  had  been  so  outrageously  de- 
spoiled by  the  decree  of  the  Convention  in  1793, 
was  in  a  measure  set  to  rights  by  Louis  XVI 1 1., 
when  he  caused  to  be  returned  from  the  Petits 
Augustins,  now  the  Palais  des  Beaux  Arts,  and 
elsewhere,  such  of  the  monuments  as  had  not  been 
actually  destroyed.  The  actual  spoliation  of  these 
shrines  belongs  to  an  earlier  day  than  that  of  which 
this  book  deals. 

The  history  of  it  forms  as  lurid  a  chapter  as 
any  known  to  the  records  of  riot  and  sacrilege  in 
France;  and  the  more  the  pity  that  the  motion  of 
Barrere  {"  La  main  puissante  de  la  Republique  doit 
eifacer  inpitoyahlement  ces  epitaphes^')  to  destroy 
these  royal  tombs  should  have  had  official  endorse- 
ment. 

The  details  of  these  barbarous  exhumations  were 
curious,  but  not  edifying;  the  corpse  of  Turenne 
was  exhibited  around  the  city ;  Henri  IV.  —  "  his 
features  still  being  perfect "  —  was  kicked  and 
bunted  about  like  a   football;    Louis  XIV.   was 


144  H)uma5'  parts 

found  in  a  perfect  preservation,  but  entirely  black; 
Louis  VIII.  had  been  sewed  up  in  a  leather  sack; 
and  Frangois  I.  and  his  family  "  had  become  much 
decayed ;  "  so,  too,  with  many  of  the  later  Bour- 
bons. 

In  general  these  bodies  were  deposited  in  a  com- 
mon pit,  which  had  been  dug  near  the  north  en- 
trance to  the  abbey,  and  thus,  for  the  first  time  in 
the  many  centuries  covered  by  the  period  of  their 
respected  demises,  their  dust  was  to  mingle  in  a 
common  blend,  and  all  factions  were  to  become  one. 

Viollet-le-Duc,  at  the  instruction  of  Napoleon  III., 
set  up  again,  following  somewhat  an  approxima- 
tion of  the  original  plan,  the  various  monuments 
which  had  been  so  thoroughly  scattered,  and  which, 
since  their  return  to  the  old  abbey,  had  been  herded 
together  without  a  pretence  at  order  in  the  crypt. 

Paris  had  for  centuries  been  wretchedly  supplied 
with  cimetieres.  For  long  one  only  had  existed, 
that  of  the  churchyard  of  St.  Innocents',  originally 
a  piece  of  the  royal  domain  lying  without  the  walls, 
and  given  by  one  of  the  French  kings  as  a  burial- 
place  for  the  citizens,  when  interments  within  the 
city  were  forbidden. 

It  has  been  calculated  that  from  the  time  of 
Philippe-Auguste  over  a  million  bodies  had  been 
interred  in  these  fosses  communes. 


©lb  Paris  145 

In  1785  the  Council  of  State  decreed  that  the 
cemetery  should  be  cleared  of  its  dead  and  con- 
verted into  a  market-place.  Cleared  it  was  not, 
but  it  has  since  become  a  market-place,  and  the 
waters  of  the  Fontaine  des  Innocents  filter  briskly 
through  the  dust  of  the  dead  of  ages. 

Sometime  in  the  early  part  of  the  nineteenth 
century  the  funeral  undertakings  of  Paris  were 
conducted  on  a  sliding  scale  of  prices,  ranging 
from  four  thousand  francs  in  the  first  class,  to  as 
low  as  sixteen  francs  for  the  very  poor ;  six  classes 
in  all. 

This  law-ordered  tarif  would  seem  to  have  been 
a  good  thing  for  posterity  to  have  perpetuated. 

The  artisan  or  craftsman  who  fashions  the 
funeral  monuments  of  Paris  has  a  peculiar  flight 
of  fancy  all  his  own;  though,  be  it  said,  through- 
out the  known  world,  funeral  urns  and  monuments 
have  seldom  or  never  been  beautiful,  graceful,  or 
even  austere  or  dignified :  they  have,  in  fact,  mostly 
been  shocking  travesties  of  the  ideals  and  thoughts 
they  should  have  represented. 

It  is  remarkable  that  the  French  architect  and 
builder,  who  knows  so  well  how  to  design  and 
construct  the  habitation  of  living  man,  should  ex- 
press himself  so  badly  in  his  bizarre  funeral  mon- 


146  Dumas'  IParts 

uments  and  the  tawdry  tinsel  wreaths  and  flowers 
of  their  decorations. 

An  English  visitor  to  Paris  in  the  thirties  de- 
plored the  fact  that  her  cemeteries  should  be  made 
into  mere  show-places,  and  perhaps  rightly  enough. 
At  that  time  they  served  as  a  fashionable  and  polite 
avenue  for  promenades,  and  there  was  (perhaps 
even  is  to-day)  a  guide-book  published  of  them, 
and,  since  grief  is  paradoxically  and  proverbially 
dry,  there  was  always  a  battery  of  taverns  and 
drinking-places  flanking  their  entrances. 

It  was  observed  by  a  writer  in  a  Parisian  journal 
of  that  day  that  "  in  the  Cimetiere  du  Montmartre 
—  which  was  the  deposit  for  the  gay  part  of  the 
city  —  nine  tombs  out  of  ten  were  to  the  memory 
of  persons  cut  off  in  their  youth ;  but  that  in  Pere 
la  Chaise  —  which  served  principally  for  the  sober 
citizens  of  Paris  —  nine  out  of  ten  recorded  the 
ages  of  persons  who  had  attained  a  good  old  age." 


CHAPTER   VII. 

WAYS   AND   MEANS   OF    COMMUNICATION 

^I^^HE  means  of  communication  in  and  about 
a  Paris  in  former  'days  was  but  a  trav- 
esty on  the  methods  of  the  *'  Metropoli- 
tain/*  which  in  our  time  literally  whisks  one  like 
the  wings  of  the  morning,  from  the  Arc  de 
Triomphe  to  the  Bois  de  Vincennes,  and  from  the 
Place  de  la  Nation  to  the  Trocadero. 

In  1850  there  were  officially  enumerated  over 
twenty-eight  hundred  boulevards,  avenues,  rues,  and 
passages,  the  most  lively  being  St.  Honore,  Riche- 
lieu, Vivienne,  Castiglione,  de  TUniversite,  — 
Dumas  lived  here  at  No.  25,  in  a  house  formerly 
occupied  by  Chateaubriand,  now  the  Magazin  St. 
Thomas,  —  de  la  Chaussee  d'Antin,  de  la  Paix,  de 
Crenelle,  de  Bac,  St.  Denis,  St.  Martin,  St.  Antoine, 
and,  above  all,  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  —  with  a  length 
of  nearly  three  miles,  distinguished  at  its  westerly 
end  by  its  great  covered  gallery,  where  the  dwell- 

147 


148  Dumas'  ipatis 

ings  above  are  carried  on  a  series  of  287 
arcades,  flanked  by  boutiques,  not  very  sumptuous 
to-day,  to  be  sure,  but  even  now  a  promenade  of 
great  popularity.  At  No.  22  Rue  de  Rivoli,  near 
the  Rue  St.  Roch,  Dumas  himself  lived  from  1838 
to  1843. 

There  were  in  those  days  more  than  a  score  of 
passages,  being  for  the  most  part  a  series  of  fine 
galleries,  in  some  instances  taking  the  form  of  a 
rotunda,  glass-covered,  and  surrounded  by  shops 
with  appartements  above.  The  most  notable  were 
those  known  as  the  Panoramas  Jouffroy,  Vivienne, 
Colbert,  de  I'Opera,  Delorme,  du  Saumon,  etc. 

There  were  more  than  a  hundred  squares,  or 
places  —  most  of  which  remain  to-day.  The  most 
famous  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Seine  are  de  la 
Concorde,  Vendome,  du  Carrousel,  du  Palais  Royal, 
des  Victoires,  du  Chatelet,  de  I'Hotel  de  Ville, 
Royale,  des  Vosges,  and  de  la  Bastille;  on  the  left 
bank,  du  Pantheon,  de  St.  Sulpice,  du  Palais  Bour- 
bon. Most  of  these  radiating  centres  of  life  are 
found  in  Dumas'  pages,  the  most  frequent  mention 
being  in  the  D'Artagnan  and  Valois  romances. 

Among  the  most  beautiful  and  the  most  fre- 
quented thoroughfares  were  —  and  are  —  the  tree- 
bordered  quais,  and,  of  course,  the  boulevards. 

The  interior  boulevards  were  laid  out  at  the  end 


TRIla^5  anb  /iDeans  of  Communication  149 

of  the  seventeenth  century  on  the  ancient  ramparts 
of  the  city,  and  extended  from  the  Madeleine  to 
La  Bastille,  a  distance  of  perhaps  three  miles.  They 
are  mostly  of  a  width  of  thirty-two  metres  (105 
feet). 

This  was  the  boulevard  of  the  time  par  excel- 
lence, and  its  tree-bordered  allies  —  sidewalks  and 
roadways  —  bore,  throughout  its  comparatively 
short  length,  eleven  different  names,  often  changing 
meanwhile  as  it  progressed  its  physiognomy  as 
well. 

On  the  left  bank,  the  interior  boulevard  was  ex- 
tended from  the  Jardin  des  Plantes  to  the  Hotel 
des  Invalides ;  while  the  "  boulevards  exterieurs " 
formed  a  second  belt  of  tree-shaded  thoroughfares 
of  great  extent. 

Yet  other  boulevards  of  ranking  greatness  cut 
the  riies  and  avenues  tangently,  now  from  one 
bank  and  then  from  the  other;  the  most  splendid 
of  all  being  the  Avenue  de  I'Opera,  which,  however, 
did  not  come  into  being  until  well  after  the  middle 
of  the  century.  Among  these  are  best  recalled 
Sebastopol,  St.  Germain,  St.  Martin,  Magenta, 
Malesherbes,  and  others.  The  Place  Malesherbes, 
which  intersects  the  avenue,  now  contains  the 
celebrated    Dumas    memorial    by    Dore,    and    the 


15°  Dumas'  pads 

neighbouring  thoroughfare  was  the  residence  of 
Dumas  from  1866  to  1870. 

Yet  another  class  of  thoroughfares,  while  con- 
ceived previous  to  the  chronological  limits  which 
the  title  puts  upon  this  book,  were  the  vast  and 
splendid  promenades  and  rendezvous,  with  their 
trees,  flowers,  and  fountains;  such  as  the  gardens 
of  the  Tuileries  and  the  Luxembourg,  the  Champs 
Elysees,  the  Esplanade  des  Invalides,  and  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne  and  de  Vincennes. 

Dibdin  tells  of  his  entree  into  Paris  in  the  early 
days  of  the  nineteenth  century,  having  journeyed 
by  "  malle-poste  "  from  Havre,  in  the  pages  of  his 
memorable  bibliographical  tour. 

His  observations  somewhat  antedate  the  Paris  of 
Dumas  and  his  fellows,  but  changes  came  but 
slowly,  and  therein  may  be  found  a  wealth  of 
archaeological  and  topographical  information  con- 
cerning the  French  metropolis;  though  he  does 
compare,  detrimentally,  the  panorama  of  Paris 
which  unrolls  from  the  heights  of  Passy,  to  that 
of  London  from  Highgate  Woods. 

On  the  contrary,  his  impressions  change  after 
passing  the  barriers.  "  Nothing  in  London,"  says 
he,  "  can  enter  into  comparison  with  the  imposing 
spectacle  which  is  presented  by  the  magnificent 
Champs  Elysees,  with  the  Chateau  of  the  Tuileries 


TOlaps  an^  /Deans  ot  Communicatiott  151 

en  face,  and  to  the  right  the  superb  dome  of  the 
Invalides  gUstening  in  the  rays  of  the  setting 
sun." 

Paris  had  at  this  time  2,948  "voitures  de  louage/* 
which  could  be  hired  for  any  journey  to  be  made 
within  reasonable  distance ;  and  eighty-three  which 
were  run  only  on  predetermined  routes,  as  were 
the  later  omnibuses  and  tram-cars.  These  2,948 
carriages  were  further  classified  as  follows;  900 
fiacres;  765  cabriolets,  circulating  in  the  twelve 
interior  arrondissements ;  406  cabriolets  for  the  ex- 
terior; 489  carrosses  de  remise  (livery-coaches), 
and  388  cabriolets  de  remise. 

The  prefet  de  police.  Count  Angles,  had  re- 
ceived from  one  Godot,  an  entrepreneur,  —  a  sort  of 
early  edition  of  what  we  know  to-day  as  a  company 
promoter,  —  a  proposition  to  establish  a  line  of 
omnibuses  along  the  quais  and  boulevards.  Au- 
thorization for  the  scheme  was  withheld  for  the 
somewhat  doubtful  reason  that  "  the  constant  stop- 
page of  the  vehicles  to  set  down  and  take  up  pas- 
sengers would  greatly  embarrass  other  traffic ;  "  and 
so  a  new  idea  was  still-born  into  the  world,  to  come 
to  life  only  in  1828,  when  another  received  the 
much  coveted  authority  to  make  the  experiment. 

Already  such  had  been  established  in  Bordeaux 
and  Nantes,  by  an  individual  by  the  name  of  Baudry, 


153  Dumas'  Paris 

and  he  it  was  who  obtained  the  first  concession  in 
Paris. 

The  first  line  inaugurated  was  divided  into  two 
sections :  Rue  de  Lancry  —  Madeleine,  and  Rue  de 
Lancry  —  Bastille. 

It  is  recorded  that  the  young  —  but  famous  — 
Duchesse  de  Berry  was  the  first  to  take  passage  in 
these  "  intramural  diligences/^  which  she  called 
"  le  carrosse  des  malheureux;  "  perhaps  with  some 
truth,  if  something  of  snobbishness. 

There  seems  to  have  been  a  considerable  difficulty 
in  attracting  a  clientele  to  this  new  means  of  com- 
munication. The  public  hesitated,  though  the  prices 
of  the  places  were  decided  in  their  favour,  so  much 
so  that  the  enterprise  came  to  an  untimely  end,  or, 
at  least,  its  founder  did;  for  he  committed  suicide 
because  of  the  non-instantaneous  success  of  the 
scheme. 

The  concession  thereupon  passed  into  other  hands, 
and  there  was  created  a  new  type  of  vehicle  of 
sixteen  places,  drawn  by  two  horses,  and  priced  at 
six  sous  the  place.  The  new  service  met  with  imme- 
diate, if  but  partial,  success,  and  with  the  estab- 
lishment of  new  routes,  each  served  by  carriages 
of  a  distinctive  colour,  its  permanence  was  as- 
sured. 

Then  came  the  " Dames  Blanches"  —  the  name 


Wia^Q  anb  /IDeans  ot  Communication  153 

being  inspired  by  Boieldieu's  opera,  —  which  made 
the  journey  between  the  Porte  St.  Martin  and  the 
Madeleine  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  They  were 
painted  a  cream  white,  and  drawn  by  a  pair  of 
white  horses,  coiffed  with  white  plumes. 

After  the  establishment  of  the  omnibus  came 
other  series  of  vehicles  for  public  service:  the 
''  Ecossaises"  with  their  gaudily  variegated  colours, 
the  ''  Carolines"  the  "  Bearnaises"  and  the  "  Tri- 
cycles," which  ran  on  three  wheels  in  order  to  escape 
the  wheel-tax  which  obtained  at  the  time. 

In  spite  of  the  rapid  multiplication  of  omnibus 
lines  under  Louis-Philippe,  their  veritable  success 
came  only  with  the  ingenious  system  of  transfers, 
or  "  la  correspondance;  "  s.  system  and  a  convenience 
whereby  one  can  travel  throughout  Paris  for  the 
price  of  one  fare.  From  this  reason  alone,  perhaps, 
the  omnibus  and  tram  system  of  Paris  is  unexcelled 
in  all  the  world.  This  innovation  dates,  moreover, 
from  1836,  and,  accordingly,  is  no  new  thing,  as 
many  may  suppose. 

Finally,  more  recently,  —  though  it  was  during 
the  Second  Empire,  —  the  different  lines  were 
fused  under  the  title  of  the  "  Compagnie  Generale 
des  Omnibus.*' 

''  La  malle-poste  "  was  an  institution  of  the  great- 
est importance  to  Paris,  though  of  course  no  more 


IS4  Dumas'  parts 

identified  with  it  than  with  the  other  cities  of 
France  between  which  it  ran.  It  dated  actually 
from  the  period  of  the  Revolution,  and  grew,  and 
was  modified,  under  the  Restoration.  It  is  said 
that  its  final  development  came  during  the  reign  of 
Louis  XVIIL,  and  grew  out  of  his  admiration  for 
the  "  elegance  et  la  rapidite  des  malles  anglaises," 
which  had  been  duly  impressed  upon  him  during 
his  sojourn  in  England. 

This  may  be  so,  and  doubtless  with  some  justi- 
fication. En  passant  it  is  curious  to  know,  and,  one 
may  say,  incredible  to  realize,  that  from  the  G.  P.  O. 
in  London,  in  this  year  of  enlightenment,  there 
leaves  each  night  various  mail-coaches  —  for  Dover, 
for  Windsor,  and  perhaps  elsewhere.  They  do  not 
carry  passengers,  but  they  do  give  a  very  bad  serv- 
ice in  the  delivery  of  certain  classes  of  mail  matter. 
The  marvel  is  that  such  things  are  acknowledged 
as  being  fitting  and  proper  to-day. 

In  1836  the  ''  malle-poste "  was  reckoned,  in 
Paris,  as  being  elegante  et  rapide,  having  a  speed 
of  not  less  than  sixteen  kilometres  an  hour  over 
give-and-take  roads. 

Each  evening,  from  the  courtyard  of  the  Hotel 
des  Postes,  the  coaches  left,  with  galloping  horses 
and  heavy  loads,  for  the  most  extreme  points  of 
the  frontier;  eighty-six  hours  to  Bordeaux  at  first, 


Wia^s  an^  /Deans  ot  Communtcatton  15s 

and  finally  only  forty- four  (in  1837)  ;  one  hundred 
hours  to  Marseilles,  later  but  sixty-eight. 

Stendhal  tells  of  his  journey  by  ''  malle-poste  " 
from  Paris  to  Marseilles  in  three  days,  and  Victor 
Hugo  has  said  that  two  nights  on  the  road  gave  one 
a  high  idea  of  the  solidite  of  the  human  machine; 
and  further  says,  of  a  journey  down  the  Loire,  that 
he  recalled  only  a  great  tower  at  Orleans,  a  candle- 
lit salle  of  an  auberge  en  route,  and,  at  Blois,  a 
bridge  with  a  cross  upon  it.  "  In  reality,  during 
the  journey,  animation  was  suspended." 

What  we  knew,  or  our  forefathers  knew,  as  the 
" poste-chaise/'  properly  "chaise  de  poste"  came 
in  under  the  Restoration.  All  the  world  knows,  or 
should  know,  Edouard  Thierry's  picturesque  descrip- 
tion of  it.  "  Le  reve  de  nos  vingt  ans,  la  voiture  ou 
Von  n'est  que  deux  .  .  .  devant  vous  le  chemin 
lihre,  la  plaine,  la  pente  rapide,  le  pont."  "  You 
traverse  cities  and  hamlets  without  number,  by  the 
grands  rues,  the  grande  place,  etc." 

In  April,  1837,  Stendhal  quitted  Paris  under 
exactly  these  conditions  for  his  tour  of  France.  He 
bought  "  une  bonne  caleche,*'  and  left  via  Fontaine- 
bleau,  Montargis,  and  Cosne.  Two  months  after, 
however,  he  returned  to  the  metropolis  via  Bourges, 
having  refused  to  continue  his  journey  en  caliche. 


156  2)uma6'  Paris 

preferring  the  "  malle-poste "  and  the  diligence  of 
his  youth. 

Public  diligences,  however,  had  but  limited  ac- 
commodation on  grand  occasions;  Victor  Hugo, 
who  had  been  invited  to  the  consecration  of 
Charles  X.  at  Reims,  and  his  friend,  Charles  Nodier, 
the  bibliophile,  —  also  a  friend  of  Dumas,  it  is  re- 
called, —  in  company  with  two  others,  made  the 
attempt  amid  much  discomfort  in  a  private  car- 
riage, —  of  a  sort,  —  and  Nodier  wittily  tells  of 
how  he  and  Hugo  walked  on  foot  up  all  the  hills, 
each  carrying  his  gripsack  as  well. 

More  than  all  others  the  "  Coches  d'Eau  "  are 
especially  characteristic  of  Paris;  those  fly-boats, 
whose  successors  ply  up  and  down  the  Seine,  to  the 
joy  of  Americans,  the  convenience  of  the  Parisian 
public,  and  —  it  is  surely  allowable  to  say  it  — 
the  disgust  of  Londoners,  now  that  their  aged  and 
decrepit  "  Thames  steamboats  "  are  no  more. 

These  early  Parisian  "  Coches  d'Eau "  carried 
passengers  up  and  down  river  for  surprisingly  low 
fares,  and  left  the  city  at  seven  in  the  morning  in 
summer,  and  eight  in  winter. 

The  following  is  a  list  of  the  most  important 
routes : 

Paris  —  Nogent-sur-Seine  2  days  en  route 
Paris  —  Briare  3     "      «      " 


Wia^e  ant>  /fteans  of  Communt cation  157 

Paris  —  Montereau  i  day  en  route 

Paris  —  Sens  2  days  "      " 

Paris  —  Auxerre  4    "    "      « 

All  of  these  services  catered  for  passengers  and 
goods,  and  were,  if  not  rapid,  certainly  a  popular 
and  comfortable  means  of  communication. 

An  even  more  popular  journey,  and  one  which 
partook  more  particularly  of  a  pleasure-trip,  was 
that  of  the  galiote,  which  left  each  day  from  below 
the  Pont-Royal  for  St.  Cloud,  giving  a  day's  outing 
by  river  which  to-day,  even,  is  the  most  fascinating 
of  the  many  petits  voyages  to  be  undertaken  around 
Paris. 

The  other  recognized  public  means  of  communi- 
cation between  the  metropolis  and  the  provincial 
towns  and  cities  were  the  "  Messageries  Royales," 
and  two  other  similar  companies,  "La  Compagne 
Lafitte  et  Caillard  "  and  "  Les  Frangaises." 

These  companies  put  also  before  the  Parisian 
public  two  other  classes  of  vehicular  accommoda- 
tion, the  "  pataches  suspendues/'  small  carriages 
with  but  one  horse,  which  ran  between  Paris  and 
Strasburg,  Metz,  Nancy,  and  Lyons  at  the  price  of 
ten  sous  per  hour. 

Again  there  was  another  means  of  travel  which 
originated  in  Paris ;  it  was  known  as  the  "  Mes- 
sageries a   Cheval."     Travellers  rode  on  horses, 


15^  Dumas*  pads 

which  were  furnished  by  the  company,  their  ba- 
gages  being  transported  in  advance  by  a  ''  chariot/' 
In  fine  weather  this  must  certainly  have  been  an 
agreeable  and  romantic  mode  of  travel  in  those 
days;  what  would  be  thought  of  it  to-day,  when 
one,  if  he  does  not  fly  over  the  kilometres  in  a  Sud 
—  or  Orient  —  Express,  is  as  likely  as  not  cover- 
ing the  Route  Nationale  at  sixty  or  more  kilometres 
the  hour  in  an  automobile,  it  is  doubtful  to  say. 

Finally  came  the  famous  diligence,  which  to-day, 
outside  the  "  Rollo  ''  books  and  the  reprints  of  old- 
time  travel  literature,  is  seldom  met  with  in  print. 

"  These  immense  structures,"  says  an  observant 
French  writer,  "  which  lost  sometimes  their  centre 
of  gravity,  in  spite  of  all  precaution  and  care  on 
the  part  of  the  driver  and  the  guard,  were,  by  an 
Ordonnance  Roy  ale  of  the  i6th  of  July,  1828,  lim- 
ited as  to  their  dimensions,  weight,  and  design." 

Each  diligence  carried  as  many  spare  parts  as 
does  a  modern  automobile,  and  workshops  and 
supply-depots  were  situated  at  equal  distances 
along  the  routes.  Hugo  said  that  the  complexity 
of  it  all  represented  to  him  "the  perfect  image  of 
a  nation;  its  constitution  and  its  government.  In 
the  diligence  was  to  be  found,  as  in  the  state,  the 
aristocracy  in  the  coupe,  the  bourgeoisie  in  the  in- 
terior, the  people  in  la  rotonde,  and,  finally,  'the 


Tiaiai20  an&  /iDeans  ot  Communication  159 

artists,  the  thinkers,  and  the  unclassed*  in  the  ut- 
most height,  the  imperiale,  beside  the  condttctear, 
who  represented  the  law  of  the  state. 

"  This  great  diligence,  with  its  body  painted 
in  staring  yellow,  and  its  five  horses,  carries  one  in 
a  diminutive  space  through  all  the  sleeping  villages 
and  hamlets  of  the  countryside." 

From  Paris,  in  1830,  the  journey  by  diligence 
to  Toulouse — 182  French  leagues  —  took  eight 
days;  to  Rouen,  thirteen  hours;  to  Lyons,  par 
Auxerre,  four  days,  and  to  Calais,  two  and  a  half 
days. 

The  diligence  was  certainly  an  energetic  mode  of 
travel,  but  not  without  its  discomforts,  particularly 
in  bad  weather.  Prosper  Merimee  gave  up  his 
winter  journey  overland  to  Madrid  in  1859,  ^"^ 
took  ship  at  Bordeaux  for  Alicante  in  Spain,  be- 
cause, as  he  says,  "  all  the  inside  places  had  been 
taken  for  a  month  ahead." 

The  coming  of  the  chemin  de  fer  can  hardly  be 
dealt  with  here.  Its  advent  is  comparatively  modern 
history,  and  is  familiar  to  all. 

Paris,  as  might  naturally  be  supposed,  was  the 
hub  from  which  radiated  the  great  spokes  of  iron 
which  bound  the  uttermost  frontiers  intimately  with 
the  capital. 

There  were  three  short  lines  of  rail  laid  down 


i6o  Bumas'  Paris 

in  the  provinces  before  Paris  itself  took  up  with 
the  innovation:  at  Roanne,  St.  Etienne-Andre- 
zieux,  Epinac,  and  Alais. 

By  la  loi  du  p  Juillet,  1835,  a  line  was  built  from 
Paris  to  St.  Germain,  seventeen  kilometres,  and  its 
official  opening  for  traffic,  which  took  place  two 
years  later,  was  celebrated  by  a  dejeuner  de  cir- 
constance  at  the  Restaurant  du  Pavilion  Henri 
Quatre  at  St.  Germain. 

Then  came  "  Le  Nord  "  to  Lille,  Boulogne,  and 
Calais ;  "  L'Ouest  "  to  Havre,  Rouen,  Cherbourg, 
and  Brest;  "  UEst  "  to  Toul  and  Nancy ;  "  L' Or- 
leans "  to  Orleans  and  the  Loire  Valley ;  and, 
finally,  the  "P.  L.  M."  (Paris-Lyon  et  Mediter- 
ranee)  to  the  south  of  France.  "  Then  it  was  that 
Paris  really  became  the  rich  neighbour  of  all  the 
provincial  towns  and  cities.  Before,  she  had  been 
a  sort  of  pompous  and  distant  relative'*  —  as  a 
whimsical  Frenchman  has  put  it. 

The  mutability  of  time  and  the  advent  of  mechan- 
ical traction  is  fast  changing  all  things  —  in 
France  and  elsewhere.  The  Chevaux  Blancs,  Deux 
Pigeons,  Cloches  d'Or,  and  the  Hotels  de  la  Poste, 
de  la  Croix,  and  du  Grand  Cerf  are  fast  disap- 
pearing from  the  large  towns,  and  the  way  of  iron 
is,  or  will  be,  a  source  of  inspiration  to  the  poets 
of  the  future,  as  has  the  postilion,  the  diligence. 


ma^s  anb  /»ean6  ot  (Tommunication  i6i 

and  the  chaise  de  poste  in  the  past.  Here  is  a 
quatrain  written  by  a  despairing  aubergiste  of  the 
little  town  of  Salons,  which  indicates  how  the  in- 
novation was  received  by  the  provincials  —  in  spite 
of  its  undeniable  serviceability : 

"  En  Tan  neuf  cent,  machine  lourde 
A  tretous  farfit  damne  et  mal, 
Gens  moult  rioient  d'icelle  bourde, 
Au  campas  renovoient  cheval." 

The  railways  which  centre  upon  Paris  are  indeed 
the  ties  that  bind  Paris  to  the  rest  of  France,  and 
vice  versa.  Their  termini  —  the  great  gares  —  are 
at  all  times  the  very  concentrated  epitome  of  the 
life  of  the  day. 

The  new  gares  of  the  P.  L.  M.  and  the  Orleans 
railways  are  truly  splendid  and  palatial  establish- 
ments, with  —  at  first  glance  —  little  of  the  odour 
of  the  railway  about  them,  and  much  of  the  cere- 
monial appointments  of  a  great  civic  institution; 
with  gorgeous  salles  a  manger,  waiting-rooms,  and 
—  bearing  the  P.  L.  M.  in  mind  in  particular  — 
not  a  little  of  the  aspect  of  an  art-gallery. 

The  other  emharcaderes  are  less  up-to-date  — 
that  vague  term  which  we  twentieth-century  folk 
are  wont  to  make  use  of  in  describing  the  latest 
innovations.    The  Gare  St.  Lazare  is  an  enormous 


1 62  Dumas'  parts 

establishment,  with  a  hotel  appendage,  which  of 
itself  is  of  great  size;  the  Gare  du  Nord  is  equally 
imposing,  but  architecturally  unbeautiful ;  while  the 
Gare  de  I'Est  still  holds  in  its  tympanum  the  melan- 
choly symbolical  figure  of  the  late  lamented  Ville 
de  Strasbourg,  the  companion  in  tears,  one  may  say, 
of  that  other  funereally  decorated  statue  on  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde. 

Paris,  too,  is  well  served  by  her  tramways  pro- 
pelled by  horses,  —  which  have  not  yet  wholly  dis- 
appeared, —  and  by  steam  and  electricity,  applied 
in  a  most  ingenious  manner.  By  this  means  Paris 
has  indeed  been  transformed  from  its  interior 
thoroughfares  to  its  uttermost  hanlieu. 

The  last  two  words  on  the  subject  have  reference 
to  the  advent  and  development  of  the  bicycle  and 
the  automobile,  as  swift,  safe,  and  economical  means 
of  transport. 

The  reign  of  the  bicycle  as  a  pure  fad  was  com- 
paratively short,  whatever  may  have  been  its  charm 
of  infatuation.  As  a  utile  thing  it  is  perhaps  more 
worthy  of  consideration,  for  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  its  development  —  and  of  its  later  gigantic 
offspring,  the  automobile  —  has  had  a  great  deal  to 
do  with  the  better  construction  and  up-keep  of 
modem  roadways,  whether  urban  or  suburban. 

"La  petite  reine  bicyclette"  has  been  feted  in 


XKDlaps  an^  jflDeans  ot  Communtcation  163 

light  verse  many  times,  but  no  one  seems  to  have 
hit  off  its  salient  features  as  did  Charles  Monselet. 
Others  have  referred  to  riders  of  the  "  new  means 
of  locomotion  "  as  "  cads  on  casters,"  and  a  writer 
in  Le  Gaulois  stigmatized  them  as  ''  imbeciles 
a  roulettes/'  which  is  much  the  same ;  while  no  less 
a  personage  than  Francisque  Sarcey  demanded,  in 
the  journal  La  France,  that  the  police  should  sup- 
press forthwith  this  eccentricite. 

Charles  Monselet's  eight  short  lines  are  more  ap- 
preciative : 

"  Instrument  raide 
En  fer  battu 
Qui  depossede 
Le  char  torlu ; 
VelocipMe 
Rail  impromptu, 
Fils  d'Archimdde, 
D'oii  nous  viens-tu  ?  ** 

Though  it  is  apart  from  the  era  of  Dumas,  this 
discursion  into  a  phase  of  present-day  Paris  is, 
perhaps,  allowable  in  drawing  a  comparison  between 
the  city  of  to-day  and  that  even  of  the  Second 
Empire,  which  was,  at  its  height,  contemporary 
with  Dumas'  prime. 

If  Paris  was  blooming  suddenly  forth  into  beauty 
and  grace  in  the  period  which  extended  from  the 


i64  Dumas'  parta 

Revolution  to  the  Franco-Prussian  War,  she  has 
certainly,  since  that  time,  not  ceased  to  shed  her 
radiance ;  indeed,  she  flowers  more  abundantly  than 
ever,  though,  truth  to  tell,  it  is  all  due  to  the  patron- 
age which  the  state  has  ever  given,  in  France,  to 
the  fostering  of  the  arts  as  well  as  industries. 

And  so  Paris  has  grown, — beautiful  and  great, — 
and  the  stranger  within  her  gates,  whether  he  come 
by  road  or  rail,  by  automobile  or  railway-coach,  is 
sure  to  be  duly  impressed  with  the  fact  that  Paris 
is  for  one  and  all  alike  a  city  founded  of  and  for 
the  people. 


CHAPTER   VIIL 

THE   BANKS   OF   THE   SEINE 

rHE  city  of  the  ancient  Parisii  is  the 
one  particular  spot  throughout  the  length 
of  the  sea-green  Seine  —  that  "  winding 
river  "  whose  name,  says  Thierry,  in  his  "  Histoire 
des  Gaulois,"  is  derived  from  a  Celtic  word  hav- 
ing this  signification  —  where  is  resuscitated  the 
historical  being  of  the  entire  French  nation. 

Here  it  circles  around  the  He  St.  Louis,  cutting 
it  apart  from  the  He  de  la  Cite,  and  rushing  up 
against  the  northern  bank,  periodically  throws  up 
a  mass  of  gravelly  sand,  just  in  the  precise  spot 
where,  in  mediaeval  times,  was  an  open  market- 
place. 

Here  the  inhabitants  of  the  city  met  the  country 

dealers,    who    landed    produce    from    their    boats, 

traded,  purchased,  and  sold,  and  departed  whence 

they  came,  into  the  regions  of  the  upper  Seine  or 

the  Marne,  or  downward  to  the  lower  river  cities 

of  Meulan,  Mantes,  and  Vernon. 

i6s 


i66  2)uma6'  Paris 

At  this  time  Paris  began  rapidly  to  grow  on 
each  side  of  the  stream,  and  became  the  great  market 
or  trading-place  where  the  swains  who  lived  up- 
river  mingled  with  the  hewers  of  wood  from  the 
forests  of  La  Brie  and  the  reapers  of  corn  from  the 
sunny  plains  of  La  Beauce. 

These  country  folk,  it  would  appear,  preferred 
the  northern  part  of  Paris  to  the  southern  —  it  was 
less  ceremonious,  less  ecclesiastical.  If  they  ap- 
proached the  city  from  rearward  of  the  Universite, 
by  the  Orleans  highroad,  they  paid  exorbitant  toll 
to  the  Abbot  of  St.  Germain  des  Pres.  Here  they 
paid  considerably  less  to  ^the  Prevot  of  Paris.  And 
thus  from  very  early  times  the  distinction  was  made, 
and  grew  with  advancing  years,  between  the  town, 
or  La  Ville,  which  distinguished  it  from  the  Cite 
and  the  Universite. 

This  sandy  river-bank  gradually  evolved  itself  into 
the  Quai  and  Place  de  la  Greve,  —  its  etymolog}' 
will  not  be  difficult  to  trace,  —  and  endured  in  the 
full  liberty  of  its  olden  functions  as  late  as  the  day 
of  Louis  XV.  Here  might  have  been  seen  great 
stacks  of  firewood,  charcoal,  corn,  wine,  hay,  and 
straw. 

Aside  from  its  artistic  and  economic  value,  the 
Seine  plays  no  great  part  in  the  story  of  Paris.  It 
does  not  divide  what  is  glorious  from  what  is  sordid, 


Ubc  JSanfts  ot  tbc  Seine  167 

as  does  "  London's  river."  When  one  crosses  any 
one  of  its  numerous  bridges,  one  does  not  exchange 
thriftiness  and  subHmity  for  the  commonplace.  Les 
Invalides,  L'Institut,  the  Luxembourg,  the  Pan- 
theon, the  Odeon,  the  Universite,  —  whose  build- 
ings cluster  around  the  ancient  Sorbonne,  —  the 
Hotel  de  Cluny,  and  the  churches  of  St.  Sulpice, 
St.  Etienne  du  Mont,  and  St.  Severin,  and,  last  but 
not  least,  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  all  are  on  the 
south  side  of  Paris,  and  do  not  shrink  greatly  in 
artistic  or  historical  importance  from  Notre  Dame, 
the  Louvre,  the  Tour  St.  Jacques,  the  Place  de  la 
Bastille,  the  Palais  Royal,  or  the  Theatre-Frangais. 

The  greatest  function  of  the  Seine,  when  one 
tries  to  focus  the  memory  on  its  past,  is  to  recall 
to  us  that  old  Paris  was  a  trinity.  Born  of  the 
river  itself  rose  the  Cite,  the  home  of  the  Church 
and  state,  scarce  finding  room  for  her  palaces  and 
churches,  while  close  to  her  side,  on  the  south  bank, 
the  Universite  spread  herself  out,  and  on  the  right 
bank  the  Ville  hummed  with  trade  and  became  the 
home  of  the  great  municipal  institutions. 

Dumas  shifts  the  scenes  of  his  Parisian  romances 
first  from  one  side  to  the  other,  but  always  his 
mediaeval  Paris  is  the  same  grand,  luxurious,  and 
lively  stage  setting.  Certainly  no  historian  could 
hope  to  have  done  better. 


1 68  2)uma0'  iPatia 

Intrigue,  riot,  and  bloodshed  of  course  there 
were;  and  perhaps  it  may  be  thought  in  undue 
proportions.  But  did  not  the  history  of  Paris  itself 
furnish  the  romancer  with  these  very  essential  de- 
tails? 

At  all  events,  there  is  no  great  sordidness  or 
squalor  perpetuated  in  Dumas'  pages.  Perhaps  it  is 
for  this  reason  that  they  prove  so  readable,  and 
their  wearing  qualities  so  great. 

There  is  in  the  reminiscence  of  history  and  the 
present  aspect  of  the  Seine,  throughout  its  length, 
the  material  for  the  constructing  a  volume  of  bulk 
which  should  not  lack  either  variety,  picturesque- 
ness,  or  interest.  It  furthermore  is  a  subject  which 
seems  to  have  been  shamefully  neglected  by  writers 
of  all  ranks. 

Turner,  of  the  brilliant  palette,  pictured  many  of 
its  scenes,  and  his  touring-companion  wrote  a  more 
or  less  imaginative  and  wofully  incorrect  running 
commentary  on  the  itinerary  of  the  journey,  as  he 
did  also  of  their  descent  of  the  Loire.  Philip  Gil- 
bert Hamerton,  accompanied  by  a  series  of  charm- 
ing pictures  by  Joseph  Pennell  (the  first  really 
artistic  topographical  illustrations  ever  put  into  the 
pages  of  a  book),  did  the  same  for  the  Saone;  and, 
of  course,  the  Thames  has  been  "  done  '*  by  many 
writers  of  all  shades  of.  ability,  but  manifestly  the 


Ube  BarikB  ot  tbe  Seine  169 

Seine,  along  whose  banks  lie  the  scenes  of  some 
of  the  most  historic  and  momentous  events  of 
mediaeval  times,  has  been  sadly  neglected. 

Paris  is  divided  into  practically  two  equal  parts 
by  the  swift-flowing  current  of  the  Seine,  which 
winds  its  way  in  sundry  convolutions  from  its 
source  beyond  Chatillon-sur-Seine  to  the  sea  at 
Honfleur. 

The  praises  of  the  winding  river  which  connects 
Havre,  Rouen,  Vernon,  Mantes,  and  Paris  has  often 
been  sung,  but  the  brief,  virile  description  of  it  in 
the  eighty-seventh  chapter  of  Dumas'  "  Le  Vicomte 
de  Bragelonne  "  has  scarcely  been  equalled.  Apro- 
pos of  the  journey  of  Madame  and  Buckingham 
Paris-ward,  after  having  taken  leave  of  the  English 
fleet  at  Havre,  Dumas  says  of  this  greatest  of 
French  waterways : 

"  The  weather  was  fine.  Spring  cast  its  flowers 
and  its  perfumed  foliage  upon  the  path.  Normandy, 
with  its  vast  variety  of  vegetation,  its  blue  sky,  and 
silver  rivers,  displayed  itself  in  all  its  loveliness." 

Through  Paris  its  direction  is  from  the  south- 
east to  the  northwest,  a  distance,  within  the  forti- 
fications, of  perhaps  twelve  kilometres. 

Two  islands  of  size  cut  its  currents :  the  He 
St.  Louis  and  the  He  de  la  Cite.    A  description  of 


I70  Dumas'  Paris 

its  banks,  taken  from  a  French  work  of  the  time, 
better  defines  its  aspect  immediately  after  the  Rev- 
olution of  1848  than  any  amount  of  conjecture  or 
present-day  observation,  so  it  is  here  given: 

"  In  its  course  through  the  metropolis,  the  Seine 
is  bordered  by  a  series  of  magnificent  quais,  which 
in  turn  are  bordered  by  rows  of  sturdy  trees. 

"  The  most  attractive  of  these  quais  are  those 
which  flank  the  Louvre,  the  Tuileries,  D'Orsay,  Vol- 
taire, and  Conti. 

**  Below  the  quais  are  deposed  nine  ports,  or 
gares,  each  devoted  to  a  special  class  of  merchan- 
dise, as  coal,  wine,  produce,  timber,  etc. 

"  The  north  and  south  portions  of  the  city  are 
connected  by  twenty-six  ponts  (this  was  in  1852; 
others  have  since  been  erected,  which  are  mentioned 
elsewhere  in  the  book). 

"  Coming  from  the  upper  river,  they  were  known 
as  follows :  the  Ponts  Napoleon,  de  Bercy,  d'Auster- 
litz,  the  Passer elle  de  I'Estacade;  then,  on  the  right 
branch  of  the  river,  around  the  islands,  the  Ponts 
Maril,  Louis-Philippe,  d'Arcole,  Notre  Dame,  and 
the  Pont  au  Change ;  on  the  left  branch,  the  Passer- 
elle  St.  Louis  or  Constantine,  the  Ponts  Toumelle, 
de  la  Cite,  de  I'Archeveche,  le  Pont  aux  Doubles, 
le  Petit  Pont,  and  the  Pont  St.  Michel;  here  the 
two  branches  join  again:    le  Pont  Neuf,  des  Arts, 


XTbe  3Banfts  ot  tbc  Seine  171 

du  Carrousel,  Royal,  Solferino,  de  la  Concorde,  des 
Invalides,  de  TAIma,  de  Jena,  and  Crenelle. 

"  Near  the  Pont  d'Austerlitz  the  Seine  receives 
the  waters  of  the  petite  Riviere  de  Bievre,  or  des 
Gobelins,  which  traverses  the  faubourgs/* 

Of  the  bridges  of  Paris,  Dumas  in  his  romances 
has  not  a  little  to  say.  It  were  not  possible  for 
a  romanticist  —  or  a  realist,  for  that  matter  —  to 
write  of  Paris  and  not  be  continually  confronting 
his  characters  with  one  or  another  of  the  many 
splendid  bridges  which  cross  the  Seine  between 
Conflans-Charenton  and  Asnieres. 

In  the  "  Mousquetaires "  series,  in  the  Valois 
romances,  and  in  his  later  works  of  lesser  import, 
mention  of  these  fine  old  bridges  continually  recurs ; 
more  than  all  others  the  Pont  Neuf,  perhaps,  or  the 
Pont  au  Change. 

In  "  Pauline  "  there  is  a  charming  touch  which 
we  may  take  to  smack  somewhat  of  the  author's 
own  predilections  and  experiences.  He  says,  con- 
cerning his  embarkation  upon  a  craft  which  he  had 
hired  at  a  little  Norman  fishing-village,  as  one  jobs 
a  carriage  in  Paris :  "  I  set  up  to  be  a  sailor,  and 
served  apprenticeship  on  a  craft  between  the  Pont 
des  Tuileries  and  the  Pont  de  la  Concorde." 

Of  the  Seine  bridges  none  is  more  historic  than 
the  Pont  Neuf,   usually  reckoned  as  one  of  the 


172  Dumas'  pari0 

finest  in  Europe;  which  recalls  the  fact  that  the 
French  —  ecclesiastic  and  laymen  architects  alike  — 
were  master  bridge-builders.  For  proof  of  this  one 
has  only  to  recall  the  wonderful  bridge  of  St. 
Benezet  d' Avignon,  the  fortified  bridges  of  Orthos 
and  Cahors,  the  bridge  at  Lyons,  built  by  the 
Primate  of  Gaul  himself,  and  many  others  through- 
out the  length  and  breadth  of  France. 

The  Pont  Neuf  was  commenced  in  the  reign  of 
Henri  III.  (1578),  and  finished  in  the  reign  of 
Henri  IV.  (1604),  and  is  composed  of  two  un- 
equal parts,  which  come  to  their  juncture  at  the 
extremity  of  the  He  de  la  Cite. 

In  the  early  years  a  great  bronze  horse,  known 
familiarly  as  the  "  Cheval  de  Bronze,'*  but  with- 
out a  rider,  was  placed  upon  this  bridge.  During 
the  Revolution,  when  cannon  and  ammunition  were 
made  out  of  any  metal  which  could  be  obtained, 
this  curious  statue  disappeared,  though  later  its 
pedestal  was  replaced  —  under  the  Bourbons  — 
by  an  equestrian  statue  of  the  Huguenot  king. 

The  Pont  des  Arts,  while  not  usually  accredited 
as  a  beautiful  structure,  —  and  certainly  not  com- 
parable with  many  other  of  its  fellows,  —  is  inter- 
esting by  reason  of  the  fact  that  its  nine  iron  arches, 
which  led  from  the  Quai  du  Louvre  to  the  Quai 
de  la  Monnai,  formed  the  first  example  of  an  iron 


Ubc  JSanfts  ot  tbe  ^cinc  173 

bridge  ever  constructed  in  France.  Its  nomen- 
clature is  derived  from  the  Louvre,  which  was  then 
called  —  before  the  title  was  applied  to  the  College 
des  Quatre  Nations  —  the  Palais  des  Arts.  In 
Restoration  times  it  was  one  of  the  fashionable 
promenades  of  Paris. 

The  Pont  au  Change  took  its  name  from  the 
changeurs,  or  money-brokers,  who  lived  upon  it 
during  the  reign  of  Louis  le  Jeune  in  1141.  It 
bridged  the  widest  part  of  the  Seine,  and,  after 
being  destroyed  by  flood  and  fire  in  1408,  16 16,  and 
1 62 1,  was  rebuilt  in  1647.  The  houses  which  orig- 
inally covered  it  were  removed  in  1788  by  the  order 
of  Louis  XVI.  In  "  The  Conspirators,"  Dumas 
places  the  opening  scene  at  that  end  of  the  Pont 
Neuf  which  abuts  on  the  Quai  de  I'ficole,  and  is 
precise  enough,  but  in  "  Marguerite  de  Valois  "  he 
evidently  confounds  the  Pont  Neuf  with  the  Pont 
au  Change,  when  he  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Co- 
connas,  the  Piedmontese :  "  They  who  rob  on  the 
Pont  Neuf  are,  then,  like  you,  in  the  service  of  the 
king.  Mordil  I  have  been  very  unjust,  sir;  for 
until  now  I  had  taken  them  for  thieves." 

The  Pont  Louis  XV.  was  built  in  1787  out  of 
part  of  the  material  which  was  taken  from  the  ruins 
of  the  Bastille. 

Latterly  there  has  sprung  up  the  new  Pont  Alex- 


174  Dumas'  IParis 

andre,  commemorative  of  the  Czar's  visit  to  Paris, 
which  for  magnificent  proportions,  beauty  of  de- 
sign and  arrangement,  quite  overtops  any  other  of 
its  kind,  in  Paris  or  elsewhere. 

The  quais  which  Hne  the  Seine  as  it  runs  through 
Paris  are  hke  no  other  quais  in  the  known  world. 
They  are  the  very  essence  and  epitome  of  certain 
phases  of  life  which  find  no  counterpart  else- 
where. 

The  following  description  of  a  bibliomaniac  from 
Dumas'  "  Memoires  "  is  unique  and  apropos : 

"  Bibliomaniac,  evolved  from  book  and  mania,  is 
a  variety  of  the  species  man  —  species  hipes  et  genus 
homo. 

"  This  animal  has  two  feet  and  is  without  features, 
and  usually  wanders  about  the  quais  and  boule- 
vards, stopping  in  front  of  every  stall  and  finger- 
ing all  the  books.  He  is  generally  dressed  in  a 
coat  which  is  too  long  and  trousers  which  are  too 
short,  his  shoes  are  always  down  at  heel,  and  on 
his  head  is  an  ill-shapen  hat.  One  of  the  signs  by 
which  he  may  be  recognized  is  shown  by  the  fact 
that  he  never  washes  his  hands." 

The  booksellers'  stalls  of  the  quais  of  Paris  are 
famous,  though  it  is  doubtful  if  genuine  bargains 
exist  there  in  great  numbers.  It  is  significant, 
however,  that  more  volumes  of  Dumas'  romances 


XTbe  Banfts  ot  tbe  Seine  175 

are  offered  for  sale  —  so  it  seems  to  the  passer-by 
—  than  of  any  other  author. 

The  Seine  opposite  the  Louvre,  and,  indeed, 
throughout  the  length  of  its  flow  through  Paris, 
enters  largely  into  the  scheme  of  the  romances, 
where  scenes  are  laid  in  the  metropolis. 

Like  the  throng  which  stormed  the  walls  of  the 
Louvre  on  the  night  of  the  i8th  of  August,  1527, 
during  that  splendid  royal  fete,  the  account  of 
which  opens  the  pages  of  "  Marguerite  de  Valois," 
the  Seine  itself  resembles  Dumas'  description  of 
the  midnight  crowd,  which  he  likens  to  "  a  dark 
and  rolling  sea,  each  swell  of  which  increases  to  a 
foaming  wave;  this  sea,  extending  all  along  the 
quai,  spent  its  waves  at  the  base  of  the  Louvre,  on 
the  one  hand,  and  against  the  Hotel  de  Bourbon, 
which  was  opposite,  on  the  other." 

In  the  chapter  entitled  "  What  Happened  on  the 
Night  of  the  Twelfth  of  July,"  in  "  The  Taking 
of  the  Bastille,"  Dumas  writes  of  the  banks  of  the 
Seine  in  this  wise: 

"  Once  upon  the  quai,  the  two  countrymen  saw 
glittering  on  the  bridge  near  the  Tuileries  the  arms 
of  another  body  of  men,  which,  in  all  probability, 
was  not  a  body  of  friends;  they  silently  glided  to 
the  end  of  the  quai,  and  descended  the  bank  which 


176  2)uma5'  pads 

leads  along  the  Seine.  The  clock  of  the  Tuileries 
was  just  then  striking  eleven. 

"  When  they  had  got  beneath  the  trees  which 
line  the  banks  of  the  river,  fine  aspen-trees  and 
poplars,  which  bathe  their  feet  in  its  current,  when 
they  were  lost  to  the  sight  of  their  pursuers,  hid  by 
their  friendly  foliage,  the  farmers  and  Pitou  threw 
themselves  on  the  grass  and  opened  a  council  of 
war." 

Just  previously  the  mob  had  battered  down  the 
gate  of  the  Tuileries,  as  a  means  of  escape  from  the 
pen  in  which  the  dragoons  had  crowded  the  popu- 
lace. 

"  *  Tell  me  now,  Father  Billot,'  inquired  Pitou, 
after  having  carried  the  timber  some  thirty  yards, 
*  are  we  going  far  in  this  way  ? ' 

"  '  We  are  going  as  far  as  the  gate  of  the  Tuile- 
ries.' 

"  *  Ho,  ho !  *  cried  the  crowd,  who  at  once  divined 
his  intention. 

"  And  it  made  way  for  them  more  eagerly  even 
than  before. 

"  Pitou  looked  about  him,  and  saw  that  the  gate 
was  not  more  than  thirty  paces  distant  from  them. 

"  *  I  can  reach  it,'  said  he,  with  the  brevity  of 
a  Pythagorean. 

"  The  labour  was  so  much  the  easier  to  Pitou 


XCbe  3Banft0  ot  tbe  Seine  177 

from  five  or  six  of  the  strongest  of  the  crowd  taking 
their  share  of  the  burden. 

"  The  result  of  this  was  a  very  notable  accelera- 
tion in  their  progress. 

"  In  five  minutes  they  had  reached  the  iron  gates. 

"  *  Come,  now/  cried  Billot,  *  clap  your  shoulders 
to  it,  and  all  push  together.' 

"  '  Good ! '  said  Pitou.  *  I  understand  now.  We 
have  just  made  a  warlike  engine;  the  Romans  used 
to  call  it  a  ram.' 

" '  Now,  my  boys,'  cried  Billot,  '  once,  twice, 
thrice,'  and  the  joist,  directed  with  a  furious  im- 
petus, struck  the  lock  of  the  gate  with  resounding 
violence. 

"  The  soldiers  who  were  on  guard  in  the  in- 
terior of  the  garden  hastened  to  resist  this  invasion. 
But  at  the  third  stroke  the  gate  gave  way,  turning 
violently  on  its  hinges,  and  through  that  gaping  and 
gloomy  mouth  the  crowd  rushed  impetuously. 

"  From  the  movement  that  was  then  made,  the 
Prince  de  Lambesq  perceived  at  once  that  an  open- 
ing had  been  effected  which  allowed  the  escape  of 
those  whom  he  had  considered  his  prisoners.  He 
was  furious  with  disappointment." 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE   SECOND   EMPIRE   AND   AFTER 

rHE  Revolution  of  1848  narrowed  itself 
down  to  the  issue  of  Bourbonism  or 
Bonapartism.  Nobody  had  a  good  word 
to  say  for  the  constitution,  and  all  parties  took 
liberties  with  it.  It  was  inaugurated  as  the  most 
democratic  of  all  possible  charters.  It  gave  a  vote 
to  everybody,  women  and  children  excepted.  It 
affirmed  liberty  with  so  wide  a  latitude  of  inter- 
pretation as  to  leave  nothing  to  be  desired  by  the 
reddest  Republican  that  ever  wore  pistols  in  his 
belt  at  the  heels  of  the  redoubtable  M.  Marc  Caus- 
sidiere,  or  expressed  faith  in  the  social  Utopia  of 
the  enthusiastic  M.  Proudhon.  Freedom  to  speak, 
to  write,  to  assemble,  and  to  vote,  —  all  were  se- 
cured to  all  Frenchmen  by  this  marvellous  charter. 
When  it  became  the  law  of  the  land,  everybody 
began  to  nibble  at  and  destroy  it.     The  right  of 

speaking  was  speedily  reduced  to  the  narrowest 

178 


Zbc  Secon^  jEmplre  anb  Httet       179 

limits,  and  the  liberty  of  the  press  was  pared  down 
to  the  merest  shred.  The  right  of  meeting  was 
placed  at  the  tender  mercies  of  the  prefect  of  police, 
and  the  right  of  voting  was  attacked  with  even 
more  zeal  and  fervour.  The  Revolution  proved 
more  voracious  than  Saturn  himself,  in  devouring 
Its  children,  and  it  made  short  work  of  men  and 
reputations.  It  reduced  MM.  de  Lamartine,  Armand 
Marrast,  and  General  Cavaignac  into  nothingness; 
sent  MM.  Louis  Blanc,  Ledru  Rollin,  and  Caus- 
sidiere  into  the  dreary  exile  of  London,  and  con- 
signed the  fiery  Barbes,  the  vindictive  Blanqui,  the 
impatient  Raspail,  and  a  host  of  other  regenerators 
of  the  human  race,  to  the  fastnesses  of  Vincennes. 
Having  done  this,  the  Revolution  left  scarcely  a 
vestige  of  the  constitution,  —  nothing  but  a  few 
crumbs,  and  those  were  not  crumbs  of  comfort, 
which  remained  merely  to  prove  to  the  incredulous 
that  such  a  thing  as  the  constitution  once  existed. 
The  former  king  and  queen  took  hidden  refuge 
in  a  small  cottage  at  Honfleur,  whence  they  were 
to  depart  a  few  days  later  for  England  —  ever  a 
refuge  for  exiled  monarchists.  Escape  became  very 
urgent,  and  the  king,  with  an  English  passport  in 
the  name  of  William  Smith,  and  the  queen  as 
Madame  Lebrun,  crossed  over  to  Le  Havre  and 
ultimately  to  England.     Lamartine  evidently  mis- 


i8o  5)uma5'  pari6 

takes  even  the  time  and  place  of  this  incident,  but 
newspaper  accounts  of  the  time,  both  French  and 
English,  are  very  full  as  to  the  details.  On  land- 
ing at  the  quai  at  Le  Havre,  the  ex-royal  party  was 
conducted  to  the  "  Express "  steam-packet,  which 
had  been  placed  at  their  disposal  for  the  cross-chan- 
nel journey.  Dumas  takes  the  very  incident  as  a 
detail  for  his  story  of  "  Pauline,"  and  his  treat- 
ment thereof  does  not  differ  greatly  from  the  facts 
as  above  set  forth.  Two  years  later  (August  26, 
1850),  at  Claremont,  in  Surrey,  in  the  presence  of 
the  queen  and  several  members  of  his  family,  Louis- 
Philippe  died.  He  was  the  last  of  the  Bourbons,  with 
whom  Dumas  proudly  claimed  acquaintanceship, 
and  as  such,  only  a  short  time  before,  was  one  of 
the  mightiest  of  the  world's  monarchs,  standing  on 
one  of  the  loftiest  pinnacles  of  an  ambition  which, 
in  the  mind  of  a  stronger  or  more  wilful  person- 
ality, might  have  accomplished  with  success  much 
that  with  him  resulted  in  defeat. 

After  the  maelstrom  of  discontent  —  the  Revo- 
lution of  1848  —  had  settled  down,  there  came  a 
series  of  events  well-nigh  as  disturbing.  Events 
in  Paris  were  rapidly  ripening  for  a  change.  The 
known  determination  of  Louis  Napoleon  to  prolong 
his  power,  either  as  president  for  another  term  of 
four  years,  or  for  life,  or  as  consul  or  emperor  of 


Ubc  Seconb  Bmptte  anb  Httet       iSi 

the  French,  and  the  support  which  his  pretensions 
received  from  large  masses  of  the  people  and  from 
the  rank  and  file  of  the  army,  had  brought  him  into 
collision  with  a  rival  —  General  Changamier  —  al- 
most as  powerful  as  himself,  and  with  an  ambition 
quite  as  daring  as  his  own. 

What  Louis  Napoleon  wanted  was  evident.  There 
was  no  secret  about  his  designs.  The  partisans 
of  Henri  V.  looked  to  Changarnier  for  the  restora- 
tion of  peace  and  legitimacy,  and  the  Orleanists 
considered  that  he  was  the  most  likely  man  in 
France  to  bring  back  the  house  of  Orleans,  and 
the  comfortable  days  of  bribery,  corruption,  and  a 
thriving  trade;  while  the  fat  bourgeoisie  venerated 
him  as  the  unflinching  foe  of  the  disturbers  of 
order,  and  the  great  bulwark  against  Communism 
and  the  Red  Republic. 

Still,  this  was  manifestly  not  to  be,  though  no 
one  seemed  to  care  a  straw  about  Louis  Napoleon's 
republic,  or  whether  or  no  he  dared  to  declare  him- 
self king  or  emperor,  or  whether  they  should  be 
ruled  by  Bonapartist,  Bourbon,  or  Orleanist. 

These  were  truly  perilous  times  for  France ;  and, 
though  they  did  not  culminate  in  disaster  until 
twenty  years  after,  Louis  Napoleon  availed  himself 
of  every  opportunity  to  efface  from  the  Second 
Republic,  of  which  he  was  at  this  time  the  head, 


i82  Dumas'  pati5 

every  vestige  of  the  democratic  features  which  it 
ought  to  have  borne. 

At  the  same  time  he  surrounded  himself  with 
imposing  state  and  pomp,  so  regal  in  character 
that  it  was  evidently  intended  to  accustom  the  pub- 
lic to  see  in  him  the  object  of  that  homage  which 
is  usually  reserved  for  crowned  heads  alone,  and 
thus  gradually  and  imperceptibly  to  prepare  the 
nation  to  witness,  without  surprise,  his  assuming, 
when  the  favourable  occasion  offered,  the  purple 
and  diadem  of  the  empire. 

For  instance,  he  took  up  his  residence  in  the 
ancient  palace  of  the  sovereigns  of  France,  the 
Tuileries,  and  gave  banquets  and  balls  of  regal 
magnificence;  he  ordered  his  effigy  to  be  struck 
upon  the  coinage  of  the  nation,  surrounded  by  the 
words  "Louis  Napoleon  Bonaparte,"  without  any 
title,  whether  as  president  or  otherwise,  being 
affixed.  He  restored  the  imperial  eagles  to  the 
standards  of  the  army;  the  official  organ,  the 
Moniteur,  recommended  the  restoration  of  the  titles 
and  orders  of  hereditary  nobility;  the  trees  of  lib- 
erty were  uprooted  everywhere;  the  Republican 
motto,  "  Liberty,  Equality,  Fraternity,"  was  erased 
from  the  public  edifices;  the  colossal  statue  of 
Liberty,  surmounted  by  a  Phrygian  cap,  which 
stood  in  the  centre  of  the  Place  de  Bourgogne, 


Ube  Secont)  Bmpire  anb  Httet       183 

behind  the  Legislative  Assembly,  was  demoHshed; 
and  the  old  anti-Republican  names  of  the  streets 
were  restored,  so  that  the  Palais  National  again 
became  the  Palais  Royal ;  the  Theatre  de  la  Nation, 
the  Theatre  Frangais ;  the  Rue  de  la  Concorde,  the 
Rue  Royal,  etc.;  and,  in  short,  to  all  appearances, 
Louis  Napoleon  began  early  in  his  tenure  of  office 
to  assiduously  pave  the  way  to  the  throne  of  the 
empire  as  Napoleon  III. 

The  London  Times  correspondent  of  that  day 
related  a  characteristic  exercise  of  this  sweeping 
instruction  of  the  Minister  of  the  Interior  to  erase 
the  words  "  Liberte,  Egalite,  Fraternite  "  from  all 
public  buildings.  (The  three  revolutionary  watch- 
words had,  in  fact,  been  erased  the  previous  year 
from  the  principal  entrance  to  the  Elysee,  and  the 
words  "  Republique  Frangaise,"  in  large  letters, 
were  substituted.) 

"  There  is,  I  believe,  only  one  public  monument 
in  Paris  —  the  Ecole  de  Droit  —  where  the  work- 
men employed  in  effacing  that  inscription  will  have 
a  double  duty.  They  will  have  to  interfere  with  the 
*  Liberalism '  of  two  generations.  Immediately 
under  the  coat  of  yellow  paint  which  covered  the 
fagade  of  the  building,  and  on  which  time  and 
the  inclemency  of  the  seasons  have  done  their  work, 
may  still  be  traced,  above  the  modem  device,  the 


i84  2)uma0'  Paris 

following  words,  inscribed  by  order  of  the  Com- 
mune of  Paris  during  the  Reign  of  Terror :  *  Lib- 
erte,  Egalite,  Fraternite,  Unite,  Indivisibilite  de  la 
Republique  Frangaise !  *  As  the  effacing  of  the  in- 
scription of  1848  is  not  now  by  means  of  white- 
wash or  paint,  but  by  erasure,  both  the  inscriptions 
will  disappear  at  the  same  moment." 

Among  the  most  important  demolitions  and  reno- 
vations of  the  sixties  was  the  work  undertaken  on 
the  Louvre  at  the  orders  of  the  ambitious  emperor, 
Napoleon  III.  The  structure  was  cloven  to  the 
foundations,  through  the  slated  roof,  the  gilded  and 
painted  ceiling,  the  parqueted  floors;  and,  where 
one  formerly  enjoyed  an  artistic  feast  that  had 
taken  four  centuries  to  provide,  one  gazed  upon, 
from  the  pavement  to  the  roof,  a  tarpaulin  that 
closed  a  vista  which  might  otherwise  have  been  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  in  length. 

Builders  toiled  day  and  night  to  connect  the 
Louvre  with  the  main  body  of  the  Palace  of  the 
Tuileries,  which  itself  was  to  disappear  within  so 
short  a  time.  Meanwhile  so  great  a  displacement 
of  the  art  treasures  was  undergone,  that  habitues 
knew  not  which  way  to  turn  for  favourite  pictures, 
with  which  the  last  fifty  years  had  made  them  so 
familiar. 

To  those  of  our  elders  who  knew  the  Paris  of 


TTbe  Secon^  JEmptre  an^  Httet       185 

the  early  fifties,  the  present-day  aspect  —  in  spite  of 
all  its  glorious  wealth  of  boulevards  and  architec- 
tural splendour  —  will  suggest  the  mutability  of  all 
things/ 

It  serves  our  purpose,  however,  to  realize  that 
much  of  the  character  has  gone  from  the  Quartier 
Latin;  that  the  Tuileries  disappeared  with  the 
Commune,  and  that  the  old  distinctions  between 
Old  Paris,  the  faubourgs,  and  the  Communal 
Annexes,  have  become  practically  non-existent  with 
the  opening  up  of  the  Haussman  boulevards,  at  the 
instigation  of  the  wary  Napoleon  III.  Paris  is  still, 
however,  an  "  ancienne  ville  et  une  ville  neuve" 
and  the  paradox  is  inexplicable. 

The  differences  between  the  past  and  the  present 
are  indeed  great,  but  nowhere  —  not  even  in  the 
Tower  of  London,  which  is  usually  given  as  an 
example  of  the  contrast  and  progress  of  the  ages  — 
is  a  more  tangible  and  specific  opposition  shown, 
than  in  what  remains  to-day  of  mediaeval  Paris,  in 
juxtaposition  with  the  later  architectural  embellish- 
ments. In  many  instances  is  seen  the  newest  of 
the  "art  nouveau"  —  as  it  is  popularly  known  — 
cheek  by  jowl  witH  some  mediaeval  shrine. 

It  is  difficult  at  this  time  to  say  what  effect  these 
swirls  and  blobs,  which  are  daily  thrusting  them- 
selves   into    every    form    of    architectural    display 


i86  Dumas'  parts 

throughout  Continental  Europe,  would  have  had  on 
these  masters  who  built  the  Gothic  splendours  of 
France,  or  even  the  hybrid  rococo  style,  which,  be 
it  not  denied,  is  in  many  instances  beautiful  in  spite 
of  its  idiosyncrasies. 

To  those  who  are  familiar  with  the  "  sights  "  of 
Paris,  there  is  nothing  left  but  to  study  the  aspects 
of  the  life  of  the  streets,  the  boulevards,  the  quais, 
the  gardens,  the  restaurants,  and  the  cafes.  Here 
at  least  is  to  be  found  daily,  and  hourly,  new  sen- 
sations and  old  ones,  but  at  all  events  it  is  an 
ever-shifting  scene,  such  as  no  other  city  in  the 
world  knows. 

The  life  of  the  fauhowrgs  and  of  the  quar tiers 
has  ever  been  made  the  special  province  of  artists 
and  authors,  and  to  wander  through  them,  to  sit 
beneath  the  trees  of  the  squares  and  gardens,  or 
even  outside  a  cafe,  is  to  contemplate,  in  no  small 
degree,  much  of  the  incident  and  temperament  of 
life  which  others  have  already  perpetuated  and 
made  famous. 

There  is  little  new  or  original  effort  which  can 
be  made,  though  once  and  again  a  new  performer 
comes  upon  the  stage,  —  a  poet  who  sings  songs  of 
vagabondage,  a  painter  who  catches  a  fleeting  im- 
pression, which  at  least,  if  not  new,  seems  new. 


XTbe  Secont)  Bmptre  anb  Htter       1S7 

But  in  the  main  one  has  to  hark  back  to  former 
generations,  if  one  would  feel  the  real  spirit  of 
romance  and  tradition.  There  are  few  who,  like 
Monet,  can  stop  before  a  shrine  and  see  in  it  forty- 
three  varying  moods  —  or  some  other  incredible 
number,  as  did  that  artist  when  he  limned  his  im- 
pressions of  the  fagade  of  the  Cathedral  of  Notre 
Dame  de  Rouen. 

Such  landmarks  as  the  Place  de  la  Bastille,  the 
Pantheon,  —  anciently  the  site  of  the  Abbey  de  Ste. 
Genevieve,  —  the  Chambre  des  Deputes,  —  the 
former  Palais  Bourbon,  —  the  Tour  St.  Jacques, 
the  Fountain  des  Innocents,  St.  Germain  FAuxer- 
rois,  the  Palais  du  Luxembourg,  the  Louvre,  and 
quite  all  the  historic  and  notable  buildings  one  sees, 
are  all  pictured  with  fidelity,  and  more  or  less 
minuteness,  in  the  pages  of  Dumas'  romances. 

Again,  in  such  other  localities  as  the  Boulevard 
des  Italiens,  the  Cafe  de  Paris,  the  Theatre  Fran- 
9ais,  the  Odeon,  the  Palais  Royal,  —  where,  in  the 
"  Orleans  Bureau,"  Dumas  found  his  first  occupa- 
tion in  Paris,  —  took  place  many  incidents  of 
Dumas'  life,  which  are  of  personal  import. 

For  recollections  and  reminders  of  the  author's 
contemporaries,  there  are  countless  other  localities 
too  numerous  to  mention.  In  the  Rue  Pigallc,  at 
No.  12,  died  Eugene  Scribe;   in  the  Rue  de  Douai 


i88  Dumas'  Paris 

lived  Edmond  About,  while  in  the  Rue  d' Amster- 
dam, at  No.  "jy,  lived  Dumas  himself,  and  in  the 
Rue  St.  Lazare,  Madame  George  Sand.  Mont- 
martre  is  sacred  to  the  name  of  Zola  in  the  minds 
of  most  readers  of  latter-day  French  fiction,  while 
many  more  famous  names  of  all  ranks,  of  litter- 
ateurs, of  actors,  of  artists  and  statesmen,  —  all 
contemporaries  and  many  of  them  friends  of  Dumas, 
—  will  be  found  on  the  tombstones  of  Pere  la 
Chaise. 

The  motive,  then,  to  be  deduced  from  these  pages 
is  that  they  are  a  record  of  many  things  associated 
with  Alexandre  Dumas,  his  life,  and  his  work. 
Equally  so  is  a  fleeting  itinerary  of  strolls  around 
and  about  the  Paris  of  Dumas'  romances,  with 
occasional  journeys  into  the  provinces. 

Thus  the  centuries  have  done  their  work  of  ex- 
tending and  mingling,  — "  le  jeu  est  fait/'  so  to 
speak,  —  but  Paris,  by  the  necessities  of  her  growth 
and  by  her  rather  general  devotion  to  one  stately, 
towering  form  of  domestic  architecture,  has  often 
made  the  separation  of  old  from  new  peculiarly 
difficult  to  a  casual  eye.  It  is  indeed  her  way  to 
be  new  and  splendid,  to  be  always  the  bride  of 
cities,  espousing  human  destiny.  And,  truly,  it  is 
in  this  character  that  we  do  her  homage  with  our 
visits,  our  money,   and  our  admiration.     Out  of 


Ubc  Second)  lEmpite  anb  Htter       189 

gray,  unwieldy,  distributed  London  one  flies  from  a 
vast  and  romantic  camp  to  a  city  exact  and  beauti- 
ful. So  exact,  so  beautiful,  so  consistent  in  her 
vivacity,  so  neat  in  her  industry,  so  splendid  in  her 
display,  that  one  comes  to  think  that  the  ultimate 
way  to  enjoy  Paris  is  to  pass  unquestioning  and 
unsolicitous  into  her  life,  exclaiming  not  "  Look 
here,"  and  "  Look  there "  in  a  fever  of  sight- 
seeing, but  rather  baring  one's  breast,  like  Daudet's 
ouvrier,  to  her  assaults  of  glistening  life. 

The  Paris  of  to-day  is  a  reconstructed  Paris ;  its 
old  splendours  not  wholly  eradicated,  but  changed 
in  all  but  their  associations.  The  life  of  Paris, 
too,  has  undergone  a  similar  evolution,  from  what 
it  was  even  in  Dumas'  time. 

The  celebrities  of  the  Cafe  de  Paris  have  mostly, 
if  not  quite  all,  passed  away.  No  more  does  the 
eccentric  Prince  Demidoff  promulgate  his  eccen- 
tricities into  the  very  faces  of  the  onlookers;  no 
more  does  the  great  Dumas  make  omelettes  in 
golden  sugar-bowls ;  and  no  more  does  he  pass  his 
criticisms  —  or  was  it  encomiums?  —  on  the  veau 
saute. 

The  student  revels  of  the  quartier  have  become 
more  sedate,  if  not  more  fastidious,  and  there  is 
no  such  Mardi  Gras  and  Mi-Careme  festivities  as 


I90  2)uma0'  Paris 

used  to  hold  forth  on  the  boulevards  in  the  forties. 
And  on  the  Buttes  Chaumont  and  Montmartre  are 
found  batteries  of  questionable  amusements,  —  es- 
pecially got  up  for  the  delectation  of  les  Anglais, 
provincials,  and  soldiers  off  duty,  —  in  place  of  the 
cabarets,  which,  if  of  doubtful  morality,  were  at 
least  a  certain  social  factor. 

New  bridges  span  the  Seine,  and  new  thorough- 
fares, from  humble  alleys  to  lordly  and  magnificent 
boulevards,  have  clarified  many  a  slum,  and  bright- 
ened and  sweetened  the  atmosphere;  so  there  is 
some  considerable  gain  there. 

The  Parisian  cabby  is,  as  he  always  was,  a  devil- 
may-care  sort  of  a  fellow,  who  would  as  soon  run 
you  down  with  his  sorry  old  outfit  as  not;  but 
perhaps  even  his  characteristics  will  change  sooner 
or  later,  now  that  the  automobile  is  upon  us  in  all 
its  proclaimed  perfection. 

The  "  New  Opera,"  that  sumptuous  structure 
which  bears  the  inscription  "  Academic  Nationale  de 
Musique,"  begun  by  Gamier  in  1861,  and  completed 
a  dozen  years  later,  is,  in  its  commanding  situation 
and  splendid  appointments,  the  peer  of  any  other 
in  the  world.  In  spite  of  this,  its  fame  will  hardly 
rival  that  of  the  Comedie  Frangaise,  or  even  the 
Opera  Comique  of  former  days,  and  the  names  of 
latter-day  stars  will  have  difficulty  in  competing 


Ubc  Scconb  Bmptrc  an&  Httcr       19^ 

with  those  of  Rachel,  Talma,  and  their  fellow  actors 
on  the  stage  of  other  days. 

Whom,  if  you  please,  have  we  to-day  whose  name 
and  fame  is  as  wide  as  those  just  mentioned  ?  None, 
save  Madame  Bernhardt,  who  suggests  to  the  well- 
informed  person  —  who  is  a  very  considerable  body 
— '  the  preeminent  influences  which  formerly  em- 
anated from  Paris  in  the  fifties.  But  this  of  itself 
is  a  subject  too  vast  for  inclusion  here,  and  it  were 
better  passed  by.  So,  too,  with  the  Parisian  artists 
who  made  the  art  of  the  world  in  the  latter  half  of 
the  nineteenth  century.  Decamps,  Delacroix,  Corot, 
and  Vernet  are  names  with  which  to  conjure  up 
reminiscences  as  great  as  those  of  Rubens,  Titian, 
and  Van  Dyke.  This  may  be  disputed,  but,  if  one 
were  given  the  same  familiarity  therewith,  it  is 
possible  that  one's  contrary  opinion  would  be  greatly 
modified. 

To-day,  in  addition  to  the  glorious  art  collection 
of  former  times,  there  are  the  splendid,  though  ever 
shifting,  collections  of  the  Musee  du  Luxembourg, 
the  mural  paintings  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  which 
are  a  gallery  in  themselves,  and  the  two  spring 
Salon  exhibitions,  to  say  nothing  of  the  newly  at- 
tempted Salon  d'Automne.  Curiously  enough,  some 
of  us  find  great  pleasure  in  the  contemplation  of 
the  decorations  in  the  interiors  of  the  great  gares 


192  Dumas'  ©arts 

of  the  Lyons  or  the  Orleans  railways.  Certainly 
these  last  examples  of  applied  art  are  of  a  lavish- 
ness  —  and  even  excellence  —  which  a  former  gen- 
eration would  not  have  thought  of. 

The  Arc  de  Triomphe  d'fitoile,  of  course,  remains 
as  it  always  has  since  its  erection  at  the  instigation 
of  Napoleon  I. ;  while  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  came 
into  existence  as  a  municipal  pleasure-ground  only 
in  the  early  fifties,  and  has  since  endured  as  the 
great  open-air  attraction  of  Paris  for  those  who 
did  not  wish  to  go  farther  afield. 

The  churches  have  not  changed  greatly  in  all  this 
time,  except  that  they  had  some  narrow  escapes 
during  the  Franco-Prussian  War,  and  still  narrower 
ones  during  the  Commune.  It  may  be  remarked 
here  en  passant  that,  for  the  first  time  in  seventy 
years,  so  say  the  records,  there  has  just  been  taken 
down  the  scaffolding  which,  in  one  part  or  another, 
has  surrounded  the  church  of  St.  Eustache.  Here, 
then,  is  something  tangible  which  has  not  changed 
until  recently  (March,  1904),  since  the  days  when 
Dumas  first  came  to  Paris. 

The  Paris  of  the  nineteenth  century  is,  as  might 
naturally  be  inferred,  that  of  which  the  most  is 
known;  the  eighteenth  and  seventeenth  are  indeed 
difficult  to  follow  with  accuracy  as  to  the  exact 
locale  of  their  events;   but  the  sixteenth  looms  up 


Zbc  Second  jEmpire  an&  Htter       193 

—  curiously  enough  —  more  plainly  than  either  of 
the  two  centuries  which  followed.  The  histories, 
and  even  the  guide-books,  will  explain  why  this  is 
so,  so  it  shall  have  no  place  here. 

Order,  of  a  sort,  immediately  came  forth  from 
out  the  chaos  of  the  Revolution.  The  great  Napo- 
leon began  the  process,  and,  in  a  way,  it  was  con- 
tinued by  the  plebeian  Louis-Philippe,  elaborated 
in  the  Second  Empire,  and  perfected  —  if  a  great 
capital  such  as  Paris  ever  really  is  perfected  — 
under  the  Third  Republic. 

Improvement  and  demolition  —  which  is  not 
always  improvement  —  still  go  on,  and  such  of 
Old  Paris  as  is  not  preserved  by  special  effort  is 
fast  falling  before  the  stride  of  progress. 

A  body  was  organized  in  1897,  under  the  name 
of  the  " Commission  du  Vieux  Paris"  which  is 
expected  to  do  much  good  work  in  the  preservation 
of  the  chronicles  in  stone  of  days  long  past. 

The  very  streets  are  noisy  with  the  echo  of  an 
unpeaceful  past ;  and  their  frequent  and  unexpected 
turnings,  even  in  these  modem  days,  are  suggestive 
of  their  history  in  a  most  graphic  manner. 

The  square  in  front  of  the  Fontaine  des  Inno- 
cents is  but  an  ancient  burial-ground;  before  the 
Hotel  de  Ville  came  Etienne  Marcel;  and  Charle- 
magne to  the  cathedral;   the  Place  de  la  Concorde 


194  Dumas'  IPatis 

was  the  death-bed  of  the  Girondins,  and  the  Place 
de  la  Madeleine  the  tomb  of  the  Capetians;  and 
thus  it  is  that  Paris  —  as  does  no  other  city  — 
mingles  its  centuries  of  strife  amid  a  life  which  is 
known  as  the  most  vigorous  and  varied  of  its  age. 

To  enter  here  into  a  detailed  comparison  between 
the  charm  of  Paris  of  to-day  and  yesterday  would 
indeed  be  a  work  of  supererogation;  and  only  in 
so  far  as  it  bears  directly  upon  the  scenes  and  inci- 
dents amid  which  Dumas  lived  is  it  so  made. 


CHAPTER   X. 


LA   VILLE 


/T  would  be  impossible  to  form  a  precise 
topographical  itinerary  of  the  scenes  of 
Dumas'  romances  and  the  wanderings  of 
his  characters,  even  in  Paris  itself.  The  area  is 
so  very  wide,  and  the  number  of  localities,  which 
have  more  than  an  incidental  interest,  so  very  great, 
that  the  futility  of  such  a  task  will  at  once  be 
apparent. 

Probably  the  most  prominent  of  all  the  romances, 
so  far  as  identifying  the  scenes  of  their  action  goes, 
are  the  Valois  series. 

As  we  know,  Dumas  was  very  fond  of  the  ro- 
mantic house  of  Valois,  and,  whether  in  town  or 
country,  he  seemed  to  take  an  especial  pride  in  pre- 
senting details  of  portraiture  and  place  in  a  sur- 
prisingly complete,  though  not  superfluous,  manner. 

The  Louvre  has  the  most  intimate  connection  with 
both  the  Valois  and  the  D'Artagnan  romances,  and 
is  treated  elsewhere  as  a  chapter  by  itself. 

195 


196  Dumas'  Paris 

Dumas'  most  marked  reference  to  the  Hotel  de 
Ville  is  found  in  the  taking  of  the  Bastille,  and, 
though  it  is  not  so  very  great,  he  gives  prominence 
to  the  incident  of  the  deputation  of  the  people  who 
waited  upon  De  Flesselles,  the  prevot,  just  before 
the  march  upon  the  Bastille. 

In  history  we  know  the  same  individual  as  "  Mes- 
sire  Jacques  de  Flesselles,  Chevalier,  Conseiller  de 
la  Grande  Chambre,  Maitre  Honoraire  des  Requetes, 
Conseiller  d'Etat."  The  anecdote  is  recorded  in 
history,  too,  that  Louis  XVI.,  when  he  visited  the 
Hotel  de  Ville  in  1789,  was  presented  with  a  cock- 
ade of  blue  and  red,  the  colours  of  the  ville  —  the 
white  was  not  added  till  some  days  later. 

"  Voire  Majeste"  dit  le  maire, ''  veut-elle  accepte 
le  signe  distinctif  des  Frangaisf" 

For  reply  the  king  took  the  cockade  and  put  it  on 
his  chapeau,  entered  the  grande  salle,  and  took  his 
place  on  the  throne. 

All  the  broils  and  turmoils  which  have  taken  place 
since  the  great  Revolution,  have  likewise  had  the 
Hotel  de  Ville  for  the  theatre  where  their  first 
scenes  were  represented. 

It  was  invaded  by  the  people  during  the  Revolu- 
tions of  1830  and  1848,  as  well  as  in  the  Commune 
in  1 87 1,  when,  in  addition  to  the  human  fury,  it 
was  attacked  by  the  flames,  which  finally  brought 


Xa  Dille  197 

about  its  destruction.  Thus  perished  that  noble 
structure,  which  owed  its  inception  to  that  art- 
loving  monarch,  Frangois  I. 

The  present-day  Quai  de  I'Hotel  de  Ville  is  the 
successor  of  the  Quai  des  Ormes,  which  dates  from 
the  fourteenth  century,  and  the  Quai  de  la  Greve, 
which  existed  as  early  as  1254,  and  which  descended 
by  an  easy  slope  to  the  strand  from  which  it  took 
its  name. 

Adjoining  the  quai  was  the  Place  de  la  Greve, 
which  approximates  the  present  Place  de  I'Hotel  de 
Ville. 

A  near  neighbour  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville  is  the 
Tour  de  St.  Jacques  la  Boucherie,  where  sits  to-day 
Paris's  clerk  of  the  weather. 

It  was  here  that  Marguerite  de  Valois,  in  com- 
pany with  the  Duchesse  de  Nevers,  repaired  from 
their  pilgrimage  to  the  Cimetiere  des  Innocents,  to 
view  the  results  of  the  Huguenot  massacre  of  the 
preceding  night. 

"'And  where  are  you  two  going?'  inquired 
Catherine,  the  queen's  mother.  *  To  see  some  rare 
and  curious  Greek  books  found  at  an  old  Protestant 
pastor's,  and  which  have  been  taken  to  the  Tour 
de  St.  Jacques  la  Boucherie.'  replied  the  inquisitive 
and  erudite  Marguerite.     For,  be  it  recalled,  her 


19S  2)uma0'  pads 

knowledge  and  liking  of  classical  literature  was 
most  profound." 

This  fine  Gothic  tower,  which  is  still  a  notable 
landmark,  is  the  only  relique  of  the  Church  of  St. 
Jacques.  A  bull  of  Pope  Calixtus  II.,  dated  11 19, 
first  makes  mention  of  it,  and  Frangois  I.  made  it 
a  royal  parish  church. 

The  tower  itself  was  not  built  until  1508,  having 
alone  cost  1,350  livres.  It  has  often  been  pictured 
and  painted,  and  to-day  it  is  a  willing  or  unwilling 
sitter  to  most  snap-shot  camerists  who  come  within 
focus  of  it,  but  no  one  has  perceived  the  spirit  of 
its  genuine  old-time  flavour  as  did  Meryon,  in  his 
wonderful  etching  —  so  sought  for  by  collectors  — 
called  "  Le  Stryge." 

The  artist's  view-point,  taken  from  the  gallery 
of  Notre  Dame,  —  though  in  the  early  nineteenth 
century,  —  with  the  grotesque  head  and  shoulders 
of  one  of  those  monstrous  figures,  half-man,  half- 
beast,  with  which  the  galleries  of  Notre  Dame  are 
peopled,  preserves,  with  its  very  simplicity  and 
directness,  an  impression  of  Vieux  Paris  which  is 
impossible  to  duplicate  to-day. 

The  Place  de  la  Greve  was  for  a  time,  at  least, 
the  most  famous  or  infamous  of  all  the  places  of 
execution  in  Paris.  One  reads  of  it  largely  in 
"  Marguerite  de  Valois "  in  this  connection,  and 


%a  mile  199 

in  "  Le  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne  "  it  again  crops  up, 
but  in  a  much  more  pleasant  manner. 

Dumas,  ever  praiseful  of  good  wine  and  good 
food,  describes  Vatel,  the  maUre  d' hotel  of 
Fouquet,  as  crossing  the  square  with  a  hamper 
filled  with  bottles,  which  he  had  just  purchased 
at  the  cabaret  of  the  sign  of  "  L'Image  de  Notre 
Dame; "  a  queer  name  for  a  wine-shop,  no  doubt, 
and,  though  it  does  not  exist  to-day,  and  so  can- 
not be  authenticated,  it  may  likely  enough  have 
had  an  existence  outside  the  novelist's  page.  At 
all  events,  it  is  placed  definitely  enough,  as  one 
learns  from  the  chapter  of  "  Le  Vicomte  de  Brage- 
lonne," entitled  "  The  Wine  of  M.  de  la  Fontaine." 

"  *  What  the  devil  are  you  doing  here,  Vatel  ?  ' 
said  Fouquet.  *  Are  you  buying  wine  at  a  cabaret 
in  the  Place  de  Greve  ?'...*!  have  found  here, 
monsieur,  a  ""  mn  de  Joigny  "  which  your  friends 
like.  This  I  know,  as  they  come  once  a  week  to 
drink  it  at  the  "  Image  de  Notre  Dame."  '  " 

In  the  following  chapter  Dumas  reverts  to  the 
inglorious  aspect  of  the  Place  and  the  Quai  de 
la  Greve  as  follows : 

"  At  two  o'clock  the  next  day,  fifty  thousand 
spectators  had  taken  their  position  upon  the  place, 
around  two  gibbets  which  had  been  elevated  between 
the  Quai  de  la  Greve  and  Quai  Pelletier;  one  close 


200  Dumas'  Paris 

to  the  other,  with  their  backs  to  the  parapet  of  the 
river.  In  the  morning,  also,  all  the  sworn  criers 
of  the  good  city  of  Paris  had  traversed  the  quarters 
of  the  city,  particularly  the  Halles  and  the  fau- 
bourgs, announcing  with  their  hoarse  and  inde- 
fatigable voices  the  great  justice  done  by  the  king 
upon  two  peculators ;  two  thieves,  devourers  of  the 
people.  And  these  people,  whose  interests  were  so 
warmly  looked  after,  in  order  not  to  fail  in  respect 
for  their  king,  quitted  shops,  stalls,  and  ateliers, 
to  go  and  evince  a  little  gratitude  to  Louis  XIV., 
absolutely  like  invited  guests,  who  feared  to  commit 
an  impoliteness  in  not  repairing  to  the  house  of  him 
who  invited  them.  According  to  the  tenor  of  the 
sentence,  which  the  criers  read  loudly  and  badly, 
two  farmers  of  the  revenues,  monopolists  of  money, 
dilapidators  of  the  royal  provisions,  extortioners 
and  forgers,  were  about  to  undergo  capital  punish- 
ment on  the  Place  de  Greve,  with  their  names 
affixed  over  their  heads,  according  to  their  sentence. 
As  to  those  names,  the  sentence  made  no  mention 
of  them.  The  curiosity  of  the  Parisians  was  at  its 
height,  and,  as  we  have  said,  an  immense  crowd 
waited  with  feverish  impatience  the  hour  fixed  for 
the  execution." 

D'Artagnan,  who,  in  the  pages  of  "  Le  Vicomte 
de  Bragelonne,"  was  no  more  a  young  man,  owned 


Xa  IDille  20I 

this  very  cabaret,  the  "  Image  de  Notre  Dame." 
"  *  I  will  go,  then/  says  he,  *  to  the  "  Image  de 
Notre  Dame,"  and  drink  a  glass  of  Spanish  wine 
with  my  tenant,  which  he  cannot  fail  to  offer  me.'  " 

En  route  to  the  cabaret,  D'Artagnan  asked  of  his 
companion,  "Is  there  a  procession  to-day?"  "It 
is  a  hanging,  monsieur."  "What!  a  hanging  on 
the  Greve?  The  devil  take  the  rogue  who  gets 
himself  hung  the  day  I  go  to  take  my  rent,"  said 
D'Artagnan. 

The  old  mousquetaire  did  not  get  his  rent,  there 
was  riot  and  bloodshed  galore,  "  L'Image  de  Notre 
Dame"  was  set  on  fire,  and  D'Artagnan  had  one 
more  opportunity  to  cry  out  ''A  moi,  Mousque- 
taires"  and  enter  into  a  first-class  fight;  all,  of 
course,  on  behalf  of  right  and  justice,  for  he  saved 
two  men,  destined  to  be  gibbeted,  from  the  more 
frightful  death  of  torture  by  fire,  to  which  the 
fanatical  crowd  had  condemned  them. 

The  most  extensive  reference  to  the  Place  de  la 
Greve  is  undoubtedly  in  the  "  Forty-Five  Guards- 
men," where  is  described  the  execution  of  Salcede, 
the  coiner  of  false  money  and  the  co-conspirator 
with  the  Guises. 

"  M.  Friard  was  right  when  he  talked  of  one 
hundred  thousand  persons  as  the  number  of  specta- 
tors who  would  meet  on  the  Place  de  la  Greve  and 


^o2  Dumas'  parts 

its  environs,  to  witness  the  execution  of  Salcede. 
All  Paris  appeared  to  have  a  rendezvous  at  the  Hotel 
de  Ville;  and  Paris  is  very  exact,  and  never  misses 
a  fete;  and  the  death  of  a  man  is  a  fete,  especially 
when  he  has  raised  so  many  passions  that  some 
curse  and  others  bless  him. 

"  The  spectators  who  succeeded  in  reaching  the 
place  saw  the  archers  and  a  large  number  of  Swiss 
and  light  horse  surrounding  a  little  scaffold  raised 
about  four  feet  from  the  ground.  It  was  so  low  as 
to  be  visible  only  to  those  immediately  surrounding 
it,  or  to  those  who  had  windows  overlooking  the 
place.  Four  vigorous  white  horses  beat  the  ground 
impatiently  with  their  hoofs,  to  the  great  terror 
of  the  women,  who  had  either  chosen  this  place 
willingly,  or  had  been  forcibly  pushed  there. 

"  These  horses  were  unused,  and  had  never  done 
more  work  than  to  support,  by  some  chance,  on  their 
broad  backs,  the  chubby  children  of  the  peasants. 
After  the  scaffold  and  the  horses,  what  next  attracted 
all  looks  was  the  principal  window  of  the  Hotel 
de  Ville,  which  was  hung  with  red  velvet  and  gold, 
and  ornamented  with  the  royal  arms.  This  was  for 
the  king.  Half-past  one  had  just  struck  when  this 
window  was  filled.  First  came  Henri  HI.,  pale, 
almost  bald,  although  he  was  at  that  time  only 
thirty-five,  and  with  a  sombre  expression,  always  a 


Xa  IDille  203 

mystery  to  his  subjects,  who,  when  they  saw  him 
appear,  never  knew  whether  to  say  '  Vive  le  roil ' 
or  to  pray  for  his  soul.  He  was  dressed  in  black, 
without  jewels  or  orders,  and  a  single  diamond  shone 
in  his  cap,  serving  as  a  fastening  to  three  short 
plumes.  He  carried  in  his  hand  a  little  black  dog 
that  his  sister-in-law,  Marie  Stuart,  had  sent  him 
from  her  prison,  and  on  which  his  fingers  looked 
as  white  as  alabaster. 

"  Behind  the  king  came  Catherine  de  Medici, 
almost  bowed  by  age,  for  she  might  be  sixty-six 
or  sixty-seven,  but  still  carrying  her  head  firm  and 
erect,  and  darting  bitter  glances  from  under  her 
thick  eyebrows.  At  her  side  appeared  the  melan- 
choly but  sweet  face  of  the  queen,  Louise  de  Tou- 
raine.  Catherine  came  as  a  triumph,  she  as  a  pun- 
ishment. Behind  them  came  two  handsome  young 
men,  brothers,  the  eldest  of  whom  smiled  with  won- 
derful beauty,  and  the  younger  with  great  melan- 
choly. The  one  was  Anne,  Due  de  Joyeuse,  and  the 
other  Henri  de  Joyeuse,  Comte  de  Bouchage.  The 
people  had  for  these  favourites  of  the  king  none  of 
the  hatred  which  they  had  felt  toward  Maugiron, 
Quelus,  and  Schomberg. 

"  Henri  saluted  the  people  gravely ;  then,  turn- 
ing to  the  young  men,  he  said,  *  Anne,  lean  against 
the  tapestry ;  it  may  last  a  long  time.'  .  .  . 


204  Dumas'  iparts 

"  Henri,  in  anger,  gave  the  sign.  It  was  re^ 
peated,  the  cords  were  refastened,  four  men  jumped 
on  the  horses,  which,  urged  by  violent  blows,  started 
off  in  opposite  directions.  A  horrible  cracking  and 
a  terrible  cry  was  heard.  The  blood  was  seen  to 
spout  from  the  limbs  of  the  unhappy  man,  whose 
face  was  no  longer  that  of  a  man,  but  of  a  demon. 

"  '  Ah,  heaven ! '  he  cried ;  *  I  will  speak,  I  will 
tell  all.    Ah !  cursed  duch —  ' 

"  The  voice  had  been  heard  above  everything, 
but  suddenly  it  ceased. 

"  *  Stop,  stop,'  cried  Catherine,  *  let  him  speak.' 

"  But  it  was  too  late ;  the  head  of  Salcede  fell 
helplessly  on  one  side,  he  glanced  once  more  to 
where  he  had  seen  the  page,  and  then  expired." 

Near  the  Hotel  de  Ville  is  "  Le  Chatelet,"  a  name 
familiar  enough  to  travellers  about  Paris.  It  is 
an  omnibus  centre,  a  station  on  the  new  "  Metro- 
politain,"  and  its  name  has  been  given  to  one  of 
the  most  modern  theatres  of  Paris. 

Dumas,  in  "Le  Collier  de  la  Reine,"  makes 
but  little  use  of  the  old  Prison  du  Grand  Chatelet, 
but  he  does  not  ignore  it  altogether,  which  seems 
to  point  to  the  fact  that  he  has  neglected  very  few 
historic  buildings,  or,  for  that  matter,  incidents  of 


Xa  iDilie  205 

Paris  in  mediaeval  times,  in  compiling  the  famous 
D'Artagnan  and  Valois  romances. 

The  Place  du  Chatelet  is  one  of  the  most  cele- 
brated and  historic  open  spots  of  Paris.  The  old 
prison  was  on  the  site  of  an  old  Caesarian  forum. 
The  prison  was  destroyed  in  1806,  but  its  history 
for  seven  centuries  was  one  of  the  most  dramatic. 

One  may  search  for  Planchefs  shop,  the  "  Pilon 
d'Or,"  of  which  Dumas  writes  in  "  The  Vicomte 
de  Bragelonne,"  in  the  Rue  des  Lombards  of  to-day, 
but  he  will  not  find  it,  though  there  are  a  dozen 
boutiques  in  the  little  street  which  joins  the  present 
Rue  St.  Denis  with  the  present  Boulevard  Sebas- 
topol,  which  to  all  intents  and  purposes  might  as 
well  have  been  the  abode  of  D'Artagnan's  old 
servitor. 

The  Rue  des  Lombards,  like  Lombard  Street  in 
London,  took  its  names  from  the  original  money- 
changers, who  gathered  here  in  great  numbers  in 
the  twelfth  century.  Planchef s  little  shop  was 
devoted  to  the  sale  of  green  groceries,  with,  pre- 
sumably, a  sprinkling  of  other  attendant  gamishings 
for  the  table. 

To-day,  the  most  notable  of  the  shops  here,  of  a 
similar  character,  is  the  famous  magasin  de  con- 
Userie,  "  Au  Fidele  Berger,"  for  which  Guilbert,  the 
author  of  "  Jeune  Malade,"  made  the  original  verses 


2o6  2)uma0'  parts 

for  the  wrappers  which  covered  the  products  of  the 
house.  A  contemporary  of  the  poet  has  said  that 
the  ""  enveloppe  etait  moins  bonne  que  la  mwrchan- 
daise/' 

The  reader  may  judge  for  himself.  This  is  one 
of  the  verses: 

"  Le  soleil  peut  s'eteindre  et  le  ciel  s'obscurcir, 
J'ai  vu  ma  Marita,  je  n'ai  plus  qu'k  mourir." 

Every  lover  of  Dumas*  romances,  and  all  who 
feel  as  though  at  one  time  or  another  they  had  been 
blessed  with  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  that 
"  King  of  Cavaliers/'  —  D'Artagnan,  —  will  have 
a  fondness  for  the  old  narrow  ways  in  the  Rue 
d'Arbre  Sec,  which  remains  to-day  much  as  it  always 
was. 

It  runs  from  the  Quai  de  1' Hotel  de  Ville,  —  once 
the  unsavoury  Quai  de  la  Greve,  —  toward  Les 
Halles;  and  throughout  its  length,  which  is  not 
very  great,  it  has  that  crazy,  tumble-down  appear- 
ance which  comes,  sooner  or  later,  to  most  narrow 
thoroughfares  of  mediaeval  times. 

It  is  not  so  very  picturesque  nor  so  very  tumble- 
down, it  is  simply  wobbly.  It  is  not,  nor  ever  was, 
a  pretentious  thoroughfare,  and,  in  short,  is  dis- 
tinctly commonplace;  but  there  is  a  little  house, 
on  the  right-hand  side,  near  the  river,  which  will 


Xa  IDflle  207 

be  famous  as  long  as  it  stands,  as  the  intimate  scene 
of  much  of  the  minor  action  of  "  Marguerite  de 
Valois/'  "  Chicot  the  Jester/*  and  others  of  the 
series. 

This  maison  is  rather  better  off  than  most  of  its 
neighbours,  with  its  white-fronted  lower  stories,  its 
little  balcony  over  the  Cremerie,  which  now  occu- 
pies the  ground-floor,  and  its  escutcheon  —  a  blazing 
sun  —  midway  in  its  fagade. 

Moreover  it  is  still  a  lodging-house,  —  an  hum- 
ble hotel  if  you  like,  —  at  any  rate  something  more 
than  a  mere  house  which  offers  ''  logement  a  pied." 
Indeed  its  enterprising  proprietor  has  erected  a 
staring  blue  and  white  enamel  sign  which  adver- 
tises his  house: 


HOTEL 
DES    MOUSQUETAIRES 


There  is,  perhaps,  no  harm  in  all  this,  as  it  would 
seem  beyond  all  question  to  have  some  justification 
for  its  name,  and  it  is  above  all  something  more 
tangible  than  the  sites  of  many  homes  and  haunts 
which  may  to-day  be  occupied  with  a  modern  maga- 
sin,  a  tous  genres,  or  a  great  tourist  caravanserai. 

This  house  bears  the  name  of  Hotel  des  Mous- 


2o8  Dumas'  parts 

quetaires,"  as  if  it  were  really  a  lineal  descendant 
of  the  "  Hotel  de  la  Belle  Etoile,"  of  which  Dumas 
writes. 

Probably  it  is  not  the  same,  and  if  it  is,  there  is, 
likely  enough,  no  significance  between  its  present 
name  and  its  former  glory  save  that  of  perspicacity 
on  the  part  of  the  present  patron. 

From  the  romance  one  learns  how  Catherine  de 
Medici  sought  to  obtain  that  compromising  note 
which  was  in  possession  of  Orthon,  the  page.  Dumas 
says  of  this  horror-chamber  of  the  Louvre : 

**  Catherine  now  reached  a  second  door,  which, 
revolving  on  its  hinges,  admitted  to  the  depths  of 
the  oubliette,  where  —  crushed,  bleeding,  and  muti- 
lated, by  a  fall  of  more  than  one  hundred  feet  — 
lay  the  still  palpitating  form  of  poor  Orthon ;  while, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  wall  forming  the  barrier 
of  this  dreadful  spot,  the  waters  of  the  Seine  were 
heard  to  ripple  by,  brought  by  a  species  of  subter- 
raneous filtration  to  the  foot  of  the  staircase. 

"  Having  reached  the  damp  and  unwholesome 
abyss,  which,  during  her  reign,  had  witnessed 
numerous  similar  scenes  to  that  now  enacted,  Cath- 
erine proceeded  to  search  the  corpse,  eagerly  drew 
forth  the  desired  billet,  ascertained  by  the  lantern 
that  it  was  the  one  she  sought,  then,  pushing  the 
mangled  body  from  her,  she  pressed  a  spring,  the 


Xa  IDtlle  209 

bottom  of  the  oubliette  sank  down,  and  the  corpse, 
borne  by  its  own  weight,  disappeared  toward  the 
river. 

"  Closing  the  door  after  her,  she  reascended ;  and, 
returning  to  her  closet,  read  the  paper  poor  Orthon 
had  so  valiantly  defended.  It  was  conceived  in 
these  words : 

"  *  This  evening  at  ten  o'clock.  Rue  de  TArbre- 
Sec,  Hotel  de  la  Belle  Etoile.  Should  you  come,  no 
reply  is  requisite;  if  otherwise,  send  word  back.  No, 
by  the  bearer. 

"  *  De  Mouy  de  Saint-Phale/ 

"  At  eight  o'clock  Henri  of  Navarre  took  two  of 
his  gentlemen,  went  out  by  the  Porte  St.  Honore,  en- 
tered again  by  the  Tour  de  Bois,  crossed  the  Seine 
at  the  ferry  of  the  Nesle,  mounted  the  Rue  St. 
Jacques,  and  there  dismissed  them,  as  if  he  were 
going  to  an  amorous  rendezvous.  At  the  comer 
of  the  Rue  des  Mathurins  he  found  a  man  on  horse- 
^'back,  wrapped  in  a  large  cloak;  he  approached  him. 

"  *  Mantes ! '  said  the  man. 

"  *  Pau ! '  replied  the  king. 

"  The  horseman  instantly  dismounted.  Henri 
wrapped  himself  in  his  splashed  mantle,  sprang  on 
his  steed,  rode  down  the  Rue  de  la  Harpe,  crossed 
the  Pont  St.  Michel,  passed  the  Rue  Barthelemy, 


210  2)umas'  parts 

crossed  the  river  again  on  the  Pont  au  Meunier, 
descended  the  quais,  reached  the  Rue  de  TArbre-Sec, 
and  knocked  at  Maitre  la  Huriere's." 

The  route  is  easily  traced  to-day,  and  at  the  end 
of  it  is  the  Hotel  des  Mousquetaires,  so  it  will  not 
take  much  imagination  to  revivify  the  incident 
which  Dumas  conceived,  though  one  may  not  get 
there  that  "  good  wine  of  Artois  "  which  the  inn- 
keeper, La  Huriere,  served  to  Henri. 

The  circumstance  is  recounted  in  "  Marguerite  de 
Valois,"  as  follows: 

" '  La  Huriere,  here  is  a  gentleman  wants  you/ 

"  La  Huriere  advanced,  and  looked  at  Henri ; 
and,  as  his  large  cloak  did  not  inspire  him  with  very 
great  veneration: 

"  *  Who  are  you  ?  '  asked  he. 

"  *  Eh,  sang  Dieu!*  returned  Henri,  pointing  to 
La  Mole.  *  I  am,  as  the  gentleman  told  you,  a 
Gascon  gentleman  come  to  court/ 

"'What  do  you  want?' 

"  *  A  room  and  supper.' 

"  *  I  do  not  let  a  room  to  any  one,  unless  he  has 
a  lackey.' 

" '  Oh,  but  I  will  pay  you  a  rose  noble  for  your 
room  and  supper.' 

"  *  You  are  very  generous,  worthy  sir,'  said  La 
Huriere,  with  some  distrust. 


Xa  mile  211 

"  *  No;  but  expecting  to  sup  here,  I  invited  a 
friend  of  mine  to  meet  me.  Have  you  any  good 
wine  of  Artois  ?  ' 

"  '  I  have  as  good  as  the  King  of  Navarre  drinks.* 

"'Ah,  good!'" 

The  Rue  de  TArbre-Sec  is  of  itself  historic,  though 
it  was  baptized  as  L'Arbre-Sel.  Two  legends  of 
more  than  ordinary  interest  are  connected  with  this 
once  important  though  unimposing  street.  The  first 
applies  to  its  early  nomenclature,  and  is  to  the  effect 
that  in  the  thirteenth  century  it  contained  an  oak- 
tree,  which,  in  the  snows  of  winter,  always  remained 
free  of  the  white  blanket  which  otherwise  covered 
everything  around  about.  For  this  reason  the  tree 
was  said  to  be  so  full  of  salt  that  the  snow  that 
fell  upon  it  melted  immediately,  and  the  name  was 
created  for  the  thoroughfare,  which  then  first  rose 
to  the  dignity  of  a  recognized  rue. 

The  second  legend  in  a  similar  way  accounts  for 
the  change  of  name  to  arbre-sec.  At  a  certain  rainy 
period,  when  the  pavements  and  the  walls  of  the 
houses  were  ''  ruisselants  d'eau"  the  same  tree  re- 
mained absolutely  dry.  It  is  curious,  too,  to  note 
that  the  Rue  de  I'Arbre-Sec  is  identified  with  a 
certain  personage  who  lived  in  Mazarin's  time,  by 
the  name  of  Mathieu  Molle,  whose  fame  as  the 
first  president  of  the  Parlement  is  preserved  in  the 


212  Dumas'  Paris 

neighbouring  Rue  Mathieu  Molle.  It  was  in  the 
hotel  of  "  La  Belle  Etoile  "  that  Dumas  ensconced 
his  character  De  la  Mole  —  showing  once  again 
that  Dumas  dealt  with  very  real  characters. 

Opposite  the  colonnade  of  the  Louvre  is  the  figlise 
St.  Germain  I'Auxerrois.  From  this  church  — 
founded  by  Childebert  in  606  —  rang  out  the  tocsin 
which  was  the  signal  for  that  infamous  massacre 
of  the  Protestants  in  the  time  of  Charles  IX.  In 
*'  Marguerite  de  Valois "  Dumas  has  vividly  de- 
scribed the  event;  not,  perhaps,  without  certain 
embroidered  embellishment,  but,  nevertheless,  with 
a  graphicness  which  the  dry-as-dust  historian  of 
fact  could  hardly  hope  to  equal. 

This  cruel  inspiration  of  Catherine  de  Medici's  is 
recorded  by  Dumas  thus : 

"*  Hush! 'said  La  Huriere. 

"  *  What  is  it  ?  '  inquired  Coconnas  and  Maurevel 
together. 

"  They  heard  the  first  stroke  of  the  bell  of  St. 
Germain  de  I'Auxerrois  vibrate. 

"  *  The  signal ! '  exclaimed  Maurevel.  *  The  time 
is  put  ahead,  for  it  was  agreed  for  midnight.  So 
much  the  better.  When  it  is  the  interest  of  God 
and  the  king,  it  is  better  that  the  clock  should  be 
put  forward  than  backward.'  And  the  sinister 
sound  of  the  church-bell  was  distinctly  heard.    Then 


Xa  mile  213 

a  shot  was  fired,  and,  in  an  instant,  the  light  of 
several  flambeaux  blazed  up  like  flashes  of  lightning 
in  the  Rue  de  r  Arbre-Sec/' 

There  is  much  more  of  moment  that  happened 
before  and  afterward  "  on  this  bloody  ground ;  "  all 
of  which  is  fully  recounted  by  the  historians. 

At  No.  7  Rue  du  Helder,  just  off  the  Boulevard 
des  Italiens,  in  a  region  so  well  known  to  Dumas 
and  his  associates,  lived  De  Franchi,  the  hero  of  the 
"  Corsican  Brothers."  The  locale  and  the  action 
of  that  rapid  review  of  emotions  to  which  Dumas 
gave  the  name  of  the  "  Corsican  Brothers  "  ("  Les 
Freres  du  Corse  "),  was  not  of  the  mean  or  sordid 
order,  but  rather  of  the  well-to-do,  a  sort  of  semi- 
luxuriousness  of  the  middle-class  life  of  the  time. 

The  scene  of  the  novelette  bears  the  date  of 
1 84 1,  and  Paris,  especially  in  many  of  what  are 
known  as  the  newer  parts,  has  changed  but  little 
since.  A  new  shop-front  here  and  there,  the  addi- 
tion of  a  huge  gilt  sign,  of  which  the  proprietors 
of  Parisian  establishments  are  so  fond,  somewhat 
changes  the  outside  aspect  of  things,  but,  on  the 
whole,  the  locale  often  remains  much  as  it  was 
before,  and,  in  this  case,  with  but  scarce  three- 
quarters  of  a  century  past,  the  view  down  the  Rue 


214  Dumas*  pads 

du  Helder  from  its  junction  with  Rue  Taitbout 
differs  little. 

"  Hotel  Picardie,"  in  the  Rue  Tiquetonne,  —  still 
to  be  seen,  —  may  or  may  not  be  the  "  La  Che- 
vrette "  of  ''  Twenty  Years  After,"  to  which 
D'Artagnan  repaired  in  the  later  years  of  his 
life.  D'Artagnan's  residence  in  the  Rue  Tiquetonne 
has,  in  the  minds  of  many,  made  the  street  famous. 
It  was  famous,  though,  even  before  it  was  popu- 
larized by  Dumas,  and  now  that  we  are  not  able 
even  to  place  the  inn  where  D'Artagnan  lived  after 
he  had  retired  from  active  service  —  it  is  still 
famous. 

At  No.  12  and  i6  are  two  grand  habitations  of 
former  times.  The  former  served  as  a  residence 
to  Henri  de  Talleyrand,  who  died  in  1626,  and 
later  to  the  Marquis  de  Mauge,  then  to  Daubonne, 
a  tapissier,  much  in  the  favour  of  Louis  XHL 

The  other  is  known  as  the  "  Hotel  d'Artagnan," 
but  it  is  difficult  to  trace  its  evolution  from  the 
comfortable  inn  of  which  Dumas  wrote. 

At  No.  23  is  about  the  only  relique  left  which 
bespeaks  the  gallant  days  of  D'Artagnan  and  his 
fellows.  It  is  a  square  tower  of  five  Stages,  and, 
from  the  character  of  its  architecture,  we  know  it 
to  be  of  the  fourteenth  or  fifteenth  century.  It  is 
known  as  the  "Tour  de  Jean-sans-Peur."     Jean- 


d*artagnan's  lodgings,  rue  tiquetonne 


Xa  tDille  215 

sans-Peur  was  the  grandfather  of  Charles-le-Teme- 
raire.  Monstrelet  has  said  that  it  was  buih  to  con- 
tain a  strong  chamber,  in  which  its  owner  might 
sleep  safely  at  night.  It  formed  originally  a  part 
of  the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne,  but  to-day,  though  but 
partially  disengaged  from  the  neighbouring  houses, 
it  is  evidently  the  only  member  of  the  original  estab- 
lishment which  remains. 

Not  far  from  the  precincts  of  the  Louvre  was 
the  Rue  de  la  Martellerie,  where  lived  Marie 
Touchet. 

The  portraiture  of  Dumas  forms  a  wonderfully 
complete  list  of  the  royalties  and  nobilities  of 
France.  Both  the  D'Artagnan  gallery  and  the 
Valois  series  literally  reek  with  the  names  of  cele- 
brated personages,  and  this,  too,  in  the  mere 
romances,  for  it  must  be  remembered  that,  in  spite 
of  his  reputation  as  a  romancist,  Dumas'  historical 
sketches  and  travels  were  both  numerous  and  of 
great  extent. 

One  significant  portrait,  though  it  is  not  one  of 
noble  birth,  is  that  of  Marie  Touchet,  extracted  from 
**  Marguerite  de  Valois,"   and  reprinted  here. 

"  When  Charles  IX.  and  Henri  of  Navarre  visited 
the  Rue  de  la  Martellerie,  it  was  to  see  the  celebrated 
Marie,  who,  though  '  only  a  poor,  simple  girl,'  as 
she  referred  to  herself,  was  the  Eve  of  Charles' 


2i6  2)ttma0'  pad0 

paradise.      '  Your   Eden,    Sire/    said   the   gallant 
Henri. 

"  *  Dearest  Marie/  said  Qiarles,  '  I  have  brought 
you  another  king  happier  than  myself,  for  he  has 
no  crown ;  more  unhappy  than  me,  for  he  has  no 
Marie  Touchet/ 

"  *  Sire,  it  is,  then,  the  King  of  Navarre? ' 
It  is,  love.* 
Henri  went  toward  her,  and  Charles  took  his 
right  hand. 

"  *  Look  at  this  hand,  Marie,*  said  he ;  *  it  is  the 
hand  of  a  good  brother  and  a  loyal  friend ;  and  but 
for  this  hand  — ' 

"*Well,  Sire!' 

"  *  But  for  this  hand,  this  day,  Marie,  our  boy 
had  been  fatherless.* 

"  Marie  uttered  a  cry,  seized  Henri*s  hand,  and 
kissed  it. 

"  The  king  went  to  the  bed  where  the  child  was 
still  asleep. 

"*Eh!*  said  he,  *  if  this  stout  boy  slept  in  the 
Louvre,  instead  of  sleeping  in  this  small  house,  he 
would  change  the  aspect  of  things  at  present,  and 
perhaps  for  the  future.* 

"  *  Sire,*  said  Marie,  *  without  offence  to  your 
Majesty,  I  prefer  his  sleeping  here;  he  sleeps 
better.*  *' 


Xa  IDille  217 

This  illustrates  only  one  phase  of  Dumas'  power 
of  portraiture,  based  on  historical  fact,  of  course, 
and  casting  no  new  light  on  matters  which  are 
otherwise  well  known,  but  still  a  very  fresh  and 
vivifying  method  of  projecting  the  features  of  those 
famous  in  the  history  of  France,  and  a  method,  per- 
haps, which  will  serve  to  impress  them  upon  the 
reader  in  a  more  nearly  indelible  fashion  than  any 
other. 

"  It  was  this  child  of  Marie  Touchet  and  Giarles 
IX.  who  afterward  was  the  famous  Duke  d'An- 
gouleme,  who  died  in  1650;  and,  had  he  been  le- 
gitimate, would  have  taken  precedence  of  Henri  III., 
Henri  IV.,  Louis  XIIL,  Louis  XIV.,  etc.,  and 
altered  the  whole  line  of  the  royal  succession  of 
France." 

It  was  a  pleasurable  visit  for  all  three,  that  of 
which  Dumas  writes. 

Charles,  Henri,  and  Marie  supped  together,  and 
the  accomplished  Prince  of  Beam  made  the  famous 
anagram  from  the  letters  of  the  lady's  name,  "  Je 
charme  tout'*  which  Charles  declared  he  would 
present  to  her  worked  in  diamonds,  and  that  it 
should  be  her  motto. 

History  does  not  state  that  he  did  so,  but  no 
doubt  that  was  a  detail  which  the  chroniclers  have 


2i8  Dumas'  pads 

overlooked,   or,   of  course,   it  may  have  been  an 
interpolation  of  Dumas'. 

Dumas'  pen-pictures  of  the  great  Napoleon  — 
whom  he  referred  to  as  "  The  Ogre  of  Corsica  "  — 
will  hardly  please  the  great  Corsican's  admirers, 
though  it  is  in  no  manner  contemptuous.  The 
following  is  from  "  The  Count  of  Monte  Cristo  "  : 

"  *  Monsieur,'  said  the  baron  to  the  count,  *  all 
the  servants  of  his  Majesty  must  approve  of  the 
latest  intelligence  which  we  have  from  the  island 
of  Elba.  Bonaparte  — '  M.  Dandre  looked  at 
Louis  XVIIL,  who,  employed  in  writing  a  note, 
did  not  even  raise  his  head.  *  Bonaparte,'  continued 
the  baron,  '  is  mortally  wearied,  and  passes  whole 
days  in  watching  his  miners  at  work  at  Porto- 
Longone.' 

"  *  And  scratches  himself  for  amusement,'  added 
the  king. 

"  *  Scratches  himself?  '  inquired  the  count.  *  What 
does  your  Majesty  mean? ' 

"  *  Yes,  indeed,  my  dear  count.  Did  you  forget 
that  this  great  man,  this  hero,  this  demigod,  is 
attacked  with  a  malady  of  the  skin  which  worries 
him  to  death,  prurigo?* 

"'And,  moreover,  M.  le  Comte,'  continued  the 


Xa  Dille  219 

minister  of  police,  *  we  are  almost  assured  that,  in 
a  very  short  time,  the  usurper  will  be  insane/ 

"'Insane?' 

"  *  Insane  to  a  degree ;  his  head  becomes  weaker. 
Sometimes  he  weeps  bitterly,  sometimes  laughs 
boisterously;  at  other  times  he  passes  hours  on  the 
seashore,  flinging  stones  in  the  water,  and  when  the 
flint  makes  "  ducks  and  drakes  *'  five  or  six  times, 
he  appears  as  delighted  as  if  he  had  gained  another 
Marengo  or  Austerlitz.  Now,  you  must  agree  these 
are  indubitable  symptoms  of  weakness  ?  ' 

"  *  Or  of  wisdom,  M.  le  Baron  —  or  of  wisdom,' 
said  Louis  XVIIL,  laughing;  *  the  greatest  captains 
of  antiquity  recreated  themselves  with  casting  peb- 
bles into  the  ocean  —  see  Plutarch's  life  of  Scipio 
Africanus.' " 

Again,  from  the  same  work,  the  following  esti- 
mate of  Napoleon's  position  at  Elba  was,  if  not 
original,  at  least  opinionated : 

"  The  emperor,  now  king  of  the  petty  isle  of 
Elba,  after  having  held  sovereign  sway  over  one- 
half  of  the  world,  counting  us,  his  subjects,  a  small 
population  of  twenty  millions,  —  after  having  been 
accustomed  to  hear  the  '  Vive  Napoleons  ^  of  at 
least  six  times  that  number  of  human  beings,  uttered 
in  nearly  every  language  of  the  globe,  —  was  looked 
upon  among  the  haute  societe  of  Marseilles  as  3 


2  20  DumaB'  parts 

ruined  man,  separated  for  ever  from  any  fresh  con- 
nection with  France  or  claim  to  her  throne." 

Firstly  the  Faubourg  St.  Denis  is  associated  with 
Dumas'  early  life  in  Paris.  He  lived  at  No.  53 
of  the  Rue  du  Faubourg  St.  Denis  in  1824. 

When  one  walks  past  the  Porte  St.  Denis  and 
looks  up  at  that  seventeenth-century  arch  of 
triumph,  built  to  commemorate  the  German  vic- 
tories of  Louis  Quatorze,  one  just  misses  the  his- 
torical significance  and  architectural  fitness  of  the 
arch.  It  is  not  merely  an  incident  in  the  boulevard. 
It  belongs  not  so  much  to  the  newer  boulevard,  as 
to  the  ancient  Rue  St.  Denis,  and  it  is  only  by 
proceeding  some  distance  up  this  street,  the  ancient 
route  of  the  pilgrims  to  the  tomb  of  the  saint,  that 
the  meaning  of  the  Porte  St.  Denis  can  truly  be 
appreciated.  The  arch  may  be  heavy,  —  it  has  been 
described  as  hideous,  and  it  truly  is,  —  but  seen  in 
the  Rue  St.  Denis,  whose  roadway  passes  under  it,  it 
forms  a  typical  view  even  to-day  of  Old  Paris,  and 
of  the  Paris  which  entered  so  largely  into  Dumas' 
romances  of  the  Louis. 

The  more  ancient  Porte  St.  Denis,  the  gateway 
which  lay  between  the  faubourg,  the  plain,  and  the 
ville,  performed  a  function  quite  diflFerent  from  that 
of  the  Renaissance  gateway  which  exists  to-day; 


Xa  Dtlle  221 

in  just  what  manner  will  be  readily  inferred  when 
it  is  recalled  that,  with  the  Porte  St.  Antoine,  the 
Porte  St.  Denis  was  the  scene  of  much  riot  and 
bloodshed  in  the  early  history  of  Paris. 

There  are  no  tram-cars  or  omnibuses  passing 
through  its  arch,  as  through  the  Place  du  Carrousel, 
or  the  courtyards  of  the  Louvre,  to  take  away  the 
sentiment  of  romance;  though  the  traffic  which 
swirls  and  eddies  around  its  sturdy  piers  and  walls 
is  of  a  manifest  up-to-date,  twentieth-century 
variety. 

Through  its  great  arch  runs  the  Rue  du  Fau- 
bourg St.  Denis,  where,  at  No.  109,  was  the  studio 
of  Gabriel  Descamps,  celebrated  in  "  Capitaine 
Pamphile." 

In  "  Marguerite  de  Valois  "  we  have  a  graphic 
reference  —  though  rather  more  sentimental  than 
was  the  author's  wont  —  to  the  Cimetiere  des  Inno- 
cents: 

"  On  the  day  which  succeeded  that  terrible  massa- 
cre of  St.  Bartholomew's  night,  in  1572,  a  hawthorn- 
tree,"  said  Dumas,  and  it  is  also  recognized  history, 
as  well,  "  which  had  blossomed  in  the  spring,  and 
which,  according  to  custom,  had  lost  its  odorous 
flower  in  the  month  of  June,  had  strangely  re- 
blossomed  during  the  night,  and  the  Catholics,  who 


222  Bumas'  parts 

saw  in  this  even  a  miracle,  and  who  by  rendering 
this  miracle  popular  made  the  Deity  their  accom- 
plice, went  in  procession,  cross  and  banner  at  their 
head,  to  the  Cemetery  of  the  Innocents,  where  this 
hawthorn  was  blooming." 

Amidst  the  cries  of  "  Vive  le  rot!  ^'  "  Vive  la 
messe!  "  "  Mort  aux  Huguenots,"  the  accomplished 
Marguerite  herself  went  to  witness  the  phenomenon. 

"  When  they  reached  the  top  of  the  Rue  des 
Prouvelles,  they  met  some  men  who  were  dragging 
a  carcass  without  any  head.  It  was  that  of  *  the 
admiral'  (Coligny).  .  .  .  The  men  were  going  to 
hang  it  by  the  feet  at  Montfaucon.  .  .  ." 

"  They  entered  the  Cemetery  of  St.  Innocents, 
and  the  clergy,  forewarned  of  the  visit  of  the  king 
and  the  queen  mother,  awaited  their  Majesties  to 
harangue  them." 

The  cemetery  —  or  signs  of  it  —  have  now  dis- 
appeared, though  the  mortal  victims  of  the  massacre, 
and  countless  other  souls  besides,  rest  beneath  the 
flagstones  adjacent  to  Les  Halles,  the  great  market- 
house  of  Paris. 

The  Fontaine  des  Innocents  formerly  marked  the 
site,  but  now  it  is  removed  to  the  other  side  of 
Les  Halles. 

This  graceful  Renaissance  fountain  was  first 
erected  in  1550,  from  designs  of  Pierre  Lescot  and 


%a  mile  223 

Jean  Goujon.  It  stood  formerly  before  the  figlise 
des  Innocents,  which  was  demoHshed  in  1783. 

The  Fontaine  des  Innocents,  in  spite  of  its  mi- 
grations, is  a  charming  oasis  of  green  trees  and 
running  water,  in  the  midst  of  the  rather  encum- 
bered market-square  of  Les  Halles.  Not  that  the 
region  around  about  is  at  all  unsavoury ;  far  from  it. 
There  is  debris  of  green  vegetables  and  ripe  fruits 
everywhere  about,  but  it  has  not  yet  reached  the 
unsavoury  stage;  before  it  does  all  will  be  swept 
away,  and  on  the  morrow  the  clamour  and  traffic 
will  start  fresh  anew. 

The  Place  Royale,  now  called  the  Place  des 
Vosges,  is  so  largely  identified  with  "  La  Comtesse 
de  Charny  "  that  no  special  mention  can  well  be 
made  of  any  action  which  here  took  place. 

At  No.  21,  now  of  course  long  since  departed, 
lived  "  a  gentleman  entirely  devoted  to  your 
Majesty,"  said  Dumas,  and  the  adventuress,  Lady 
de  Winter,  whom  D'Artagnan  was  wont  to  visit, 
was  given  domicile  by  Dumas  at  No.  6.  Likely 
enough  it  was  her  true  residence,  though  there  is 
no  opportunity  of  tracing  it  to-day,  and  one  per- 
force must  be  satisfied  with  locating  the  houses  of 
Madame  de  Sevigne  and  Victor  Hugo,  each  of 
which  bear  tablets  to  that  effect. 

The   Place   des   Vosges   is   a   charming  square. 


224  Dumas'  parts 

reminiscent,  in  a  way,  of  the  courtyard  of  the  Palais 
Royal,  though  lacking  its  splendour.  The  iron 
gateway  to  the  central  garden  was  a  gift  of 
Louis  XIV.,  in  1685,  when  the  square  was  known 
as  the  Place  Royale.  Richelieu  caused  to  be 
set  up  here  a  magnificent  equestrian  statue  of 
Louis  XIIL,  which,  however,  was  overturned  in 
the  Revolution,  though  it  has  since  been  replaced 
by  another  statue.  The  horse  was  the  work  of 
Ricciarelli  de  Volterre,  a  pupil  of  Michelangelo, 
and  the  figure  was  by  Biard. 

The  first  great  historical  event  held  here  was  the 
carrousel  given  in  161 2,  two  years  after  the  tragic 
death  of  Henri  IV.  at  the  hands  of  the  assassin 
Ravaillac.  It  was  a  function  of  Marie  de  Medici's 
to  celebrate  the  alliance  of  France  and  Spain. 

Under  Richelieu,  the  place  became  a  celebrated 
duelling-ground,  the  most  famous  duel  being  that 
between  the  Due  de  Guise  and  Coligny  His,  the  son 
of  the  admiral. 

The  Place  Royale  soon  became  the  most  fashion- 
able qimrtier,  the  houses  around  about  being  greatly 
in  demand  of  the  noblesse. 

Among  its  illustrious  inhabitants  have  been  the 
Rohans,  the  D'Alegres,  Comeille,  Conde,  St.  Vin- 
cent de  Paul,  Moliere,  Turenne,  Madame  de  Longue- 
ville,  Cinq-Mars,  and  Richelieu. 


Xa  IDille  225 

By  un  arrets  of  the  17th'  Ventose,  year  VIL,  it 
was  declared  that  the  name  of  the  department  which 
should  pay  the  largest  part  of  its  contributions  by 
the  20th  Germinal  would  be  given  to  that  of  the 
principal  place  or  square  of  Paris.  The  Department 
of  the  Vosges  was  the  first  to  pay  up,  and  the 
Place  Royale  became  the  Place  des  Vosges. 

A  great  deal  of  the  action  of  the  D'Artagnan 
romances  took  place  in  the  Place  Royale,  and  in 
the  neighbouring  quartiers  of  St.  Antoine  and  La 
Bastille,  the  place  being  the  scene  of  the  notable 
reunion  of  the  four  gallants  in  "  Vingt  Ans  Apres." 

La  Roquette,  the  prison,  has  disappeared,  like 
the  Bastille  itself,  but  they  are  both  perpetuated 
to-day,  the  former  in  the  Rue  Roquette,  and  the 
latter  in  the  Place  de  la  Bastille. 

Dumas  does  not  project  their  horrors  unduly, 
though  the  Bastille  crops  up  in  many  of  the  chapters 
of  the  Valois  romances,  and  one  entire  volume  is 
devoted  to  "  The  Taking  of  the  Bastille." 

D'Artagnan  himself  was  doomed,  by  an  order  of 
arrest  issued  by  Richelieu,  to  be  incarcerated  therein ; 
but  the  gallant  mousquetaire,  by  a  subtle  scheme, 
got  hold  of  the  warrant  and  made  a  present  of  it 
to  the  intriguing  cardinal  himself. 

The  sombre  and  sinister  guillotine,  since  become 
so  famous,  is  made  by  Dumas  subject  of  a  weirdly 


2  26  Dumas'  Paris 

fascinating  chapter  in  "  La  Comtesse  de  Charny." 
Dumas'  description  is  as  follows : 

"  When  Guilbert  got  out  of  the  carriage  he  saw 
that  he  was  in  the  court  of  a  prison,  and  at  once  rec- 
ognized it  as  the  Bicetre.  A  fine  misty  rain  fell 
diagonally  and  stained  the  gray  walls.  In  the  middle 
of  the  court  five  or  six  carpenters,  under  the  direc- 
tion of  a  master  workman,  and  a  little  man  clad  in 
black,  who  seemed  to  direct  everybody,  put  a  machine 
of  a  hitherto  strange  and  unknown  form.  Guilbert 
shuddered ;  he  recognized  Doctor  Guillotin,  and  the 
machine  itself  was  the  one  of  which  he  had  seen 
a  model  in  the  cellar  of  the  editor  of  '  rami  du 
peuple/  .  .  .  The  very  workmen  were  as  yet  igno- 
rant of  the  secret  of  this  novel  machine.  *  There,' 
said  Doctor  Guillotin,  ...  *  it  is  now  only  neces- 
sary to  put  the  knife  in  the  groove.'  .  .  .  This  was 
the  form  of  the  machine:  a  platform  fifteen  feet 
square,  reached  by  a  simple  staircase,  on  each  side 
of  this  platform  two  grooved  uprights,  ten  or 
twelve  feet  high.  In  the  grooves  slid  a  kind  of 
crescent-shaped  knife.  A  little  opening  was  made 
between  two  beams,  through  which  a  man's  head 
could  be  passed.  ...  *  Gentlemen,*  said  Guillotin, 
*  all  being  here,  we  will  begin.'  " 

Then  follows  the  same  vivid  record  of  executing 
and  blood-spurting  that  has  attracted  many  other 


Xa  IDUle  227 

writers  perhaps  as  gifted  as  Dumas,  but  none  have 
told  it  more  graphically,  simply,  or  truthfully. 

Every  one  knows  the  Mount  of  Martyrs,  its  his- 
tory, and  its  modem  aspect,  which  has  sadly  de- 
generated of  late. 

To-day  it  is  simply  a  hilltop  of  cheap  gaiety, 
whose  patrons  are  catered  for  by  the  Moulin 
Rouge,  the  Moulin  de  la  Galette,  and  a  score  of 
"  eccentric  cafes,"  though  its  past  is  burdened  with 
Christian  tragedy.  Up  its  slope  St.  Denis  is  fab- 
ulously supposed  to  have  carried  his  head  after  his 
martyrdom,  and  the  quiet,  almost  forlorn  Rue  St. 
Eleu there  still  perpetuates  the  name  of  his  com- 
panion in  misery.  Long  afterward,  in  the  chapel 
erected  on  this  spot,  Ignatius  Loyola  and  his  com- 
panions solemnly  vowed  themselves  to  their  great 
work.  So  here  on  sinful  Montmartre,  above  Paris, 
was  bom  the  Society  of  Jesus.  The  Revolution 
saw  another  band  of  martyrs,  when  the  nuns  of 
the  Abbaye  de  Montmartre,  old  and  young,  chanted 
their  progress  to  the  guillotine,  and  little  more  than 
thirty  years  ago  the  Commune  precipitated  its  ter- 
rible stmggle  in  Montmartre.  It  was  in  the  Rue 
des  Rosiers,  on  the  i8th  of  March,  1871,  that  the 
blood  of  Generals  Lecomte  and  Clement-Thomas 
was  shed. 


228  Dumas'  parts 

Hard  by,  in  the  Pare  Monceau,  is  the  statue  of 
Guy  de  Maupassant,  and  so  the  memory  of  the 
sinful  mount  is  perpetuated  to  us. 

Dumas  did  not  make  the  use  of  this  banal  attri- 
bute of  Paris  that  many  other  reaHsts  and  roman- 
cists  aHke  have  done,  but  he  frequently  refers  to  it 
in  his  "  Memoires." 

Madame  de  la  Motte,  the  scheming  adventuress 
of  the  "  Collier  de  la  Reine,"  lived  at  No.  57  Rue 
Chariot,  in  the  Quartier  des  Infants-Rouges.  It 
was  here,  at  the  Hotel  Boulainvilliers,  where  the 
Marquise  de  Boulainvilliers  brought  up  the  young 
girl  of  the  blood  royal  of  the  Valois,  who  after- 
ward became  known  as  Madame  de  la  Motte. 

Near  by,  in  the  same  street,  is  the  superb  hotel 
of  Gabrielle  d'Estrees,  who  herself  was  not  alto- 
gether unknown  to  the  court.  The  Rue  de  Valois, 
leading  from  the  Rue  St.  Honore  to  the  Rue  Beau- 
jolais,  beside  the  Palais  Royal,  as  might  be  sup- 
posed, especially  appealed  to  Dumas,  and  he  laid  one 
of  the  most  cheerful  scenes  of  the  "  Chevalier 
d'Harmental "  in  the  hotel.  No.  10,  built  by  Riche- 
lieu for  L'Abbe  Metel  de  Bois-Robert,  the  founder 
of  the  Academic  Franqaise. 

Off  the  Rue  Sourdiere,  was  the  Couloir  St. 
Hyacinthe,  where  lived  Jean  Paul  Marat  —  "the 
friend  of  the  people,"  whose  description  by  Dumas, 


Xa  mile  229 

in  "  La  Comtesse  de  Charny/'  does  not  differ  greatly 
from  others  of  this  notorious  person. 

In  the  early  pages  of  "  The  Count  of  Monte 
Cristo,"  one's  attention  is  transferred  from  Mar- 
seilles to  Paris,  to  No.  13  Rue  Coq-Heron,  where 
lived  M.  Noirtier,  to  whom  the  luckless  Dantes 
was  commissioned  to  deliver  the  fateful  packet, 
which  was  left  in  his  care  by  the  dying  Captain 
Leclerc. 

The  incident  of  the  handing  over  of  this  letter 
to  the  depute  procureur  du  roi  is  recounted  thus  by 
Dumas: 

*'  *  Stop  a  moment,'  said  the  deputy,  as  Dantes 
took  his  hat  and  gloves.  *  To  whom  is  it  ad- 
dressed ? ' 

"'To  M.  Noirtier,  Rue  Coq-Heron,  Paris.' 
Had  a  thunderbolt  fallen  into  the  room,  Villefort 
could  not  have  been  more  stupefied.  He  sank  into 
his  seat,  and,  hastily  turning  over  the  packet,  drew 
forth  the  fatal  letter,  at  which  he  glanced  with  an 
expression  of  terror. 

*'  *  M.  Noirtier,  Rue  Coq-Heron,  No.  13,'  mur- 
mured he,  growing  still  paler. 

"  *  Yes,'  said  Dantes ;   *  do  you  then  know  him  ? ' 

"  *  No,'  replied  Villefort ;  '  a  faithful  servant  of 
the  king  does  not  know  conspirators.' 

"  *  It  is  a  conspiracy,  then? '  asked  Dantes,  who, 


230  2)umas'  parts 

after  believing  himself  free,  now  began  to  feel  a  ten- 
fold alarm.  *  I  have  already  told  you,  however,  sir, 
I  was  ignorant  of  the  contents  of  the  letter/ 

** '  Yes,  but  you  knew  the  name  of  the  person 
to  whom  it  was  addressed,'  said  Villefort. 

"  *  I  was  forced  to  read  the  address  to  know  to 
whom  to  give  it/ 

"  *  Have  you  shown  this  letter  to  any  one?  '  asked 
Villefort,  becoming  still  more  pale. 

"  *  To  no  one,  on  my  honour.' 

**  *  Everybody  is  ignorant  that  you  are  the  bearer 
of  a  letter  from  the  isle  of  Elba,  and  addressed  to 
M.  Noirtier?* 

"  *  Everybody,  except  the  person  who  gave  it  to 


The  Rue  Coq-Heron  is  one  of  those  whimsically 
named  streets  of  Paris,  which  lend  themselves  to 
the  art  of  the  novelist. 

The  origin  of  the  name  of  this  tiny  street,  which 
runs  tangently  off  from  the  Rue  du  Louvre,  is 
curious  and  naive.  A  shopkeeper  of  the  street, 
who  raised  fowls,  saw,  one  day,  coming  out  of  its 
shell,  a  petit  coq  with  a  neck  and  beak  quite  dif- 
ferent, and  much  longer,  than  the  others  of  the 
same  brood.  Everybody  said  it  was  a  heron,  and 
the   neighbours  crowded  around  to  see  the  phe- 


Xa  iDtllc  231 

nomenon;  and  so  the  street  came  to  be  baptized 
the  Rue  Coq-Heron. 

In  the  Rue  Qiaussee  d'Antin,  at  No.  7,  the 
wily  Baron  Danglars  had  ensconced  himself  after 
his  descent  on  Paris.  It  was  here  that  Dantes 
caused  to  be  left  his  first  "  carte  de  visite "  upon 
his  subsequent  arrival. 

Among  the  slighter  works  of  Dumas,  which  are 
daily  becoming  more  and  more  recognized  —  in 
English  —  as  being  masterpieces  of  their  kind,  is 
"  Gabriel  Lambert."  It  deals  with  the  life  of  Paris 
of  the  thirties ;  much  the  same  period  as  does  "  Cap- 
tain Pamphile,"  "  The  Corsican  Brothers,"  and 
"  Pauline,"  and  that  in  which  Dumas  himself  was 
just  entering  into  the  literary  life  of  Paris. 

Like  "  Pauline  "  and  "  Captain  Pamphile,"  too, 
the  narrative,  simple  though  it  is,  —  at  least  it  is  not 
involved,  —  shifts  its  scenes  the  length  and  breadth 
of  the  continent  of  Europe,  and  shows  a  versatility 
in  the  construction  of  a  latter-day  romance  which  is 
quite  the  equal  of  that  of  the  unapproachable  medi- 
aeval romances.  It  further  resembles  "  The  Corsi- 
can Brothers,"  in  that  it  purveys  a  duel  of  the  first 
quality  —  this  time  in  the  Allee  de  la  Muette  of  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne,  and  that  most  of  the  Parisians 
in  the  story  are  domiciled  in  and  about  the  Boule- 
vard des  Italiens,  the  Rue  Taitbout,  and  the  Rue 


232  Dumas'  lPart0 

du  Helder;  all  of  them  localities  very  familiar  to 
Dumas  in  real  life.  In  spite  of  the  similarity  of 
the  duel  of  Gabriel  to  that  of  De  Franchi,  there  is 
no  repetition  of  scene  or  incident  detail 

The  story  deals  frankly  with  the  brutal  and  vulgar 
malefactor,  in  this  case  a  counterfeiter  of  bank  notes, 
one  Gabriel,  the  son  of  a  poor  peasant  of  Normandy, 
who,  it  would  appear,  was  fascinated  by  the  omi- 
nous words  of  the  inscription  which  French  bank 
notes  formerly  bore. 


LA    LOI    PUNIT    DE    MORT 
LE   CONTREFACTEUR 


Dumas  occasionally  took  up  a  theme  which,  un- 
promising in  itself,  was  yet  alluring  through  its  very 
lack  of  sympathy.  "  Gabriel  Lambert "  is  a  story 
of  vulgar  rascality  unredeemed  by  any  spark  of 
courage,  wit,  or  humanity.  There  is  much  of  truth 
in  the  characterization,  and  some  sentiment,  but  little 
enough  of  romance  of  the  gallant  vagabond  order. 

Dumas  never  attempted  a  more  difficult  feat  than 
the  composition  of  an  appealing  story  from  this 
material. 

Twenty  years  after  the  first  appearance  of 
"  Gabriel  Lambert,"  in  1844,  M.  Amedee  de  Jallais 


Xa  IDille  233 

brought  Dumas  a  "  scenario  "  taken  from  the  ro- 
mance. Unsuitable  and  unsympathetic  though  the 
principal  character  was,  Dumas  found  the  "  scena- 
rio "  so  deftly  made  that  he  resolved  to  turn  the  book 
into  a  drama.  This  was  quickly  done,  and  the  re- 
hearsals promised  a  success.  On  the  evening  of  the 
first  performance  Dumas  showed  himself  full  of 
confidence  in  the  play  —  confidence  which  amounted 
almost  to  certainty;  for  he  said  to  a  friend  with 
whom  he  promenaded  the  corridors  of  the  theatre 
while  awaiting  the  rise  of  the  curtain :  "  I  am  sure 
of  my  piece;  to-night,  I  can  defy  the  critics."  Some 
of  these  gentlemen,  unfortunately  overhearing  him, 
were  provoked  to  hostility,  and,  finding  unhappy 
phrases  here  and  there  in  the  piece,  they  laid  hold 
of  them  without  mercy.  Only  the  comic  part  of 
the  drama,  a  scene  introduced  by  Dumas,  in  which 
a  vagabond  steals  a  clock  in  the  presence  of  its 
owner  with  superb  audacity,  disarmed  their  oppo- 
sition. But  the  verve  of  this  comic  part  could  not 
save  the  play,  says  Gabriel  Ferry,  in  narrating  this 
anecdote.  The  antipathy  aroused  by  the  principal 
character  doomed  it,  and  the  career  of  the  piece  was 
short. 

It  remains,  however,  —  in  the  book,  at  any  rate, 
—  a  wonderful  characterization,  with  its  pictures 
of  the  blue  Mediterranean  at  Toulon,  the  gay  life 


234  Dumas'  parts 

of  the  Parisian  boulevards,  its  miniature  portrait 
of  the  great  Vidocq,  and  the  sinister  account  of 
the  prison  of  Bicetre,  which,  since  the  abandonment 
of  the  Place  de  la  Greve,  had  become  the  last  resort 
of  those  condemned  to  death. 

The  tale  is  a  short  one,  but  it  vibrates  between 
the  rues  and  the  boulevards,  from  the  Hotel  de 
Venise  in  the  Rue  des  Vieux-Augustins  (now  the 
Rue  Herold),  where  Gabriel,  upon  coming  to  Paris, 
first  had  his  lodgings,  to  the  purlieus  of  the  fash- 
ionable world,  —  the  old  Italian  Opera  in  the  Rue 
Pelletier,  —  and  No.  1 1  Rue  Taitbout,  where  after- 
ward Gabriel  had  ensconced  himself  in  a  luxurious 
apartment 


CHAPTER   XI. 

LA   CIt6 

/T  is  difficult  to  write  of  La  Cite;    it  is  in- 
deed, impossible  to  write  of  it  with  fulness, 
unless   one  were  to  devote  a  large  volume 
—  or  many  large  volumes  —  to  it  alone. 

To  the  tourists  it  is  mostly  recalled  as  being  the 
berceau  of  Notre  Dame  or  the  morgue.  The  latter, 
fortunately,  is  an  entirely  modern  institution,  and, 
though  it  existed  in  Dumas'  own  time,  did  not  when 
the  scenes  of  the  D'Artagnan  or  Valois  romances 
were  laid. 

Looking  toward  Notre  Dame  from  the  Pont  du 
Carrousel,  one  feels  a  veritable  thrill  of  emotion 
as  one  regards  this  city  of  kings  and  revolutions. 

The  very  buildings  on  the  He  de  la  Cite  mingle 
in  a  symphony  of  ashen  memories.  The  statue  of 
the  great  Henri  IV.,  bowered  in  trees;  the  two 
old  houses  at  the  apex  of  the  Place  Dauphine,  in 
one  of  which  Madame  Roland  was  bom ;  the  mas- 

235 


236  Dumas*  Paris 

sive  Palais  de  Justice;  the  soaring  Sainte  Chapelle, 
which  St.  Louis  built  for  the  Crown  of  Thorns, 
and  "  to  the  glory  of  God  and  France,"  and  the 
towers  of  the  Conciergerie,  whose  floor  is  for  ever 
stained  with  the  tears  of  Marie  Antoinette. 

Romance  and  history  have  both  set  their  seal 
upon  the  locality,  and  no  one  better  than  Dumas 
has  told  its  story  in  romance. 

Henri  of  Navarre  being  Protestant,  the  Church 
would  not  open  its  doors  to  him,  and  thus  his  mar- 
riage to  the  talented  but  wicked  Margot,  sister  of 
Charles  IX.,  took  place  on  a  platform  erected  before 
its  doors. 

In  the  opening  chapter  of  "  Marguerite  de 
Valois,"  Dumas  refers  to  it  thus : 

"  The  court  was  celebrating  the  marriage 
of  Madame  Marguerite  de  Valois,  daughter  of 
Henri  II.  and  sister  of  King  Charles  IX.,  with 
Henri  de  Bourbon,  King  of  Navarre;  and  that 
same  morning  the  Cardinal  de  Bourbon  had  united 
the  young  couple  with  the  usual  ceremonial  ob- 
served at  the  marriages  of  the  royal  daughters  of 
France,  on  a  stage  erected  at  the  entrance  to  Notre 
Dame.  This  marriage  had  astonished  everybody, 
and  occasioned  much  surmise  to  certain  persons  who 
saw  clearer  than  others.     They  could  not  compre- 


■^r^ .: 


5    I 


1     I 


1  ^ 

r'"^ 


■■  ^.%  '•  ■•^^■-.v  il^.*^^ia*-^i^i 


<^1  g 


;'.u';-,.^v-.-"* 

..?^- 

1 

-iii:,  aassisr^^jfs^-: 

■-'f«i.-&^.::,:,     . 

--  >.:H^?^iA:s^>:v^:*-xprf;l;:^^^■. 

"■':>■"».■" 

•>---=itf- 

..•tv.i-iSvr';'  ii5 

^M 

Xa  Cttc  237 

hend  the  union  of  two  parties  who  hated  each  other 
so  thoroughly  as  did,  at  this  moment,  the  Protestant 
party  and  the  CathoHc  party;  and  they  wondered 
how  the  young  Prince  de  Conde  could  forgive  the 
Duke  d'Anjou,  the  king's  father,  for  the  death  of 
his  father,  assassinated  by  Montesquieu  at  Jarnac. 
They  asked  how  the  young  Duke  de  Guise  could 
pardon  Admiral  de  Coligny  for  the  death  of  his 
father,  assassinated  at  Orleans  by  Poltrot  de 
Mere." 

The  Tour  de  Nesle  is  one  of  those  bygones  of 
the  history  of  Paris,  which  as  a  name  is  familiar  to 
many,  but  which,  after  all,  is  a  very  vague  mem- 
ory. 

It  perpetuates  an  event  of  bloodshed  which  is 
familiar  enough,  but  there  are  no  tangible  remains 
to  mark  the  former  site  of  the  tower,  and  only 
the  name  remains  —  now  given  to  a  short  and  un- 
important rue. 

The  use  of  the  title  "La  Tour  de  Nesle,"  by 
Dumas,  for  a  sort  of  second-hand  article,  —  as  he 
himself  has  said,  —  added  little  to  his  reputation 
as  an  author,  or,  rather,  as  a  dramatist. 

In  reality,  he  did  no  more  than  rebuild  a  romantic 
drama,  such  as  he  alone  knows  how  to  build,  out 


238  Dumas'  iParta 

of  the  framework  which  had  been  unsuccessfully 
put  together  by  another  —  Gaillardet.  However, 
it  gives  one  other  historical  title  to  add  to  the  already 
long  list  of  his  productions. 

The  history  of  the  Conciergerie  is  most  lurid, 
and,  withal,  most  emphatic,  with  regard  to  the 
political  history  of  France.  For  the  most  part, 
it  is  more  associated  with  political  prisoners  than 
with  mere  sordid  crime,  as,  indeed,  to  a  great  extent 
were  many  of  the  prisons  of  France. 

The  summer  tourist  connects  it  with  Marie  An- 
toinette; visits  the  "  Cachot  de  Marie  Antoinette; " 
the  great  hall  where  the  Girondists  awaited  their 
fate;  and  passes  on  to  the  Palais  des  Beaux  Arts, 
with  never  a  thought  as  to  the  great  political  part 
that  the  old  prison  played  in  the  monarchial  history 
of  France. 

To  know  it  more  fully,  one  should  read  No- 
garet's  "  Histoire  des  Prisons  de  Paris."  There 
will  be  found  anecdotes  and  memoirs,  "  rares  et 
precieux/'  and  above  all  truthful. 

It  has  been  eulogized,  or,  rather,  anathematized 
in  verse  by  Voltaire,  — 


«'  Exterminez,  grandes  Dieux,  de  la  terre  ou  nous  sommes 
Quiconque  avec  plaisir  repand  le  sang  des  hommes,"  — 


Xa  Cite  239 

and  historians  and  romancists  have  made  profuse 
use  of  the  recollections  which  hang  about  its  grim 
walls. 

To-day  it  stands  for  much  that  it  formerly  repre- 
sented, but  without  the  terrible  inquisitorial  methods. 
In  fact,  in  the  Palais  de  Justice,  which  now  entirely 
surrounds  all  but  the  turreted  fagade  of  tourelles, 
which  fronts  the  Quai  de  THorloge,  has  so  tem- 
pered its  mercies  that  within  the  past  year  it  has 
taken  down  that  wonderful  crucifix  and  triptych,  so 
that  those  who  may  finally  call  upon  the  court  of 
last  appeal  may  not  be  unduly  or  superstitiously 
affected. 

The  Place  de  la  Greve  opposite  was  famous  for 
something  more  than  its  commercial  reputation,  as 
readers  of  the  Valois  romances  of  Dumas,  and  of 
Hugo's  "  Dernier  Jour  d'un  Condamne  "  will  recall. 
It  was  a  veritable  Gehenna,  a  sort  of  Tower  Hill, 
where  a  series  of  events  as  dark  and  bloody  as  those 
of  any  spot  in  Europe  held  forth,  from  13 10,  when 
a  poor  unfortunate,  Marguerite  Porette,  was  burned 
as  a  heretic,  until  1830,  —  well  within  the  scope  of 
this  book,  —  when  the  headsmen,  stakesmen,  and 
hangmen,  who  had  plied  their  trade  here  for  five 
centuries,  were  abolished  in  favour  of  a  less  public 
harriere  on  the  outskirts,  or  else  the  platform  of  the 
prison  near  the  Cimetiere  du  Pere  la  Chaise. 


240  2)uma8'  Paris 

It  was  in  1830  that  a  low  thief  and  murderer, 
Lacenaire,  who  was  brought  to  the  scaffold  for 
his  crimes,  published  in  one  of  the  Parisian  papers 
some  verses  which  were  intended  to  extract  sym- 
pathy for  him  as  un  homme  de  lettres.  In  reality 
they  were  the  work  of  a  barrister,  Lemarquier  by 
name,  and  failed  utterly  of  their  purpose,  though 
their  graphic  lines  might  well  have  evoked  sym- 
pathy, had  the  hoax  carried : 

"  Slow  wanes  the  long  night,  when  the  criminal  wakes ; 
And  he  curses  the  mom  that  his  slumber  breaks ; 
For  he  dream'd  of  other  days. 

"  His  eyes  he  may  close,  —  but  the  cold  icy  touch 
Of  a  frozen  hand,  and  a  corpse  on  his  couch, 
Still  comes  to  wither  his  soul. 

"  And  the  headsman's  voice,  and  hammer'd  blows 
Of  nails  that  the  jointed  gibbet  close, 

And  the  solemn  chant  of  the  dead  ! " 

La  Conciergerie  was  perhaps  one  of  the  greatest 
show-places  of  the  city  for  the  morbidly  inclined, 
and  permission  a  visiter  was  at  that  time  granted 
avec  toutes  facilites,  being  something  more  than  is 
allowed  to-day. 

The  associations  connected  with  this  doleful  build- 
ing are  great  indeed,  as  all  histories  of  France  and 
the  guide-books  tell.     It  was  in  the  chapel  of  this 


Xa  Cite  241 

edifice  that  the  victims  of  the  Terror  foregathered, 
to  hear  the  names  read  out  for  execution,  till  all 
should  have  been  made  away. 

Miiller's  painting  in  the  Louvre  depicts,  with 
singular  graphicness,  this  dreadful  place  of  deten- 
tion, where  princes  and  princesses,  counts,  mar- 
quises, bishops,  and  all  ranks  were  herded  amid  an 
excruciating  agony. 

In  "  The  Queen's  Necklace  "  we  read  of  the  Con- 
ciergerie  —  as  we  do  of  the  Bastille.  When  that 
gang  of  conspirators,  headed  by  Madame  de  la 
Motte,  —  Jeanne  de  St.  Remy  de  Valois,  —  ap- 
peared for  trial,  they  were  brought  from  the  Bas- 
tille to  the  Conciergerie. 

After  the  trial  all  the  prisoners  were  locked  for 
the  night  in  the  Conciergerie,  sentence  not  being 
pronounced  till  the  following  day. 

The  public  whipping  and  branding  of  Madame 
de  la  Motte  in  the  Cour  du  Justice,  —  still  the  cour 
where  throngs  pass  and  repass  to  the  various 
court-rooms  of  the  Palais  de  Justice,  —  as  given  by 
Dumas,  is  most  realistically  told,  if  briefly.  It  runs 
thus: 

"  *  Who  IS  this  man  ?  '  cried  Jeanne,  in  a  fright. 

" '  The  executioner,  M.  de  Paris,'  replied  the 
registrar. 

"  The  two  men  then  took  hold  of  her  to  lead 


242  Dumas'  parts 

her  out.  They  took  her  thus  into  the  court  called 
Cour  de  Justice,  where  was  a  scaffold,  and  which 
was  crowded  with  spectators.  On  a  platform,  raised 
about  eight  feet,  was  a  post  garnished  with  iron 
rings,  and  with  a  ladder  to  mount  to  it.  This  place 
was  surrounded  with  soldiers.  .  .  . 

"  Numbers  of  the  partisans  of  M.  de  Rohan  had 
assembled  to  hoot  her,  and  cries  of  '  A  has  la  Motte, 
the  forger ! '  were  heard  on  every  side,  and  those 
who  tried  to  express  pity  for  her  were  soon  silenced. 
Then  she  cried  in  a  loud  voice,  *  Do  you  know 
who  I  am?  I  am  the  blood  of  your  kings.  They 
strike  in  me,  not  a  criminal,  but  a  rival;  not  only 
a  rival,  but  an  accomplice.  Yes,*  repeated  she,  as 
the  people  kept  silence  to  listen,  *  an  accomplice. 
They  punish  one  who  knows  the  secrets  of  — ' 

"  *  Take  care,'  interrupted  the  executioner. 

"  She  turned  and  saw  the  executioner  with  the 
whip  in  his  hand.  At  this  sight  she  forgot  her 
desire  to  captivate  the  multitude,  and  even  her 
hatred,  and,  sinking  on  her  knees,  she  said,  *  Have 
pity ! '  and  seized  his  hand ;  but  he  raised  the  other, 
and  let  the  whip  fall  lightly  on  her  shoulders.  She 
jumped  up,  and  was  about  to  try  and  throw  herself 
off  the  scaffold,  when  she  saw  the  other  man,  who 
was  drawing  from  a  fire  a  hot  iron.    At  this  sight 


Xa  Citi  243 

she  uttered  a  perfect  howl,  which  was  echoed  by 
the  people. 

"  '  Help !  help ! '  she  cried,  trying  to  shake  off  the 
cord  with  which  they  were  tying  her  hands.  The 
executioner  at  last  forced  her  on  her  knees,  and 
tore  open  her  dress;  but  she  cried,  with  a  voice 
which  was  heard  through  all  the  tumult,  '  Cowardly 
Frenchmen!  you  do  not  defend  me,  but  let  me  be 
tortured;  oh!  it  is  my  own  fault.  If  I  had  said 
all  I  knew  of  the  queen  I  should  have  been  — ' 

*'  She  could  say  no  more,  for  she  was  gagged  by 
the  attendants :  then  two  men  held  her,  while  the 
executioner  performed  his  office.  At  the  touch  of 
the  iron  she  fainted,  and  was  carried  back  insensible 
to  the  Conciergerie.'* 


CHAPTER   XII. 

L^UNIVERSITE   QUARTIER 

L 'UNIVERSITY  is  the  quartier  which  fore- 
gathered its  components,  more  or  less  un- 
consciously, around  the  Sorbonne. 

To-day  the  name  still  means  what  it  always  did; 
the  Ecole  de  Medicine,  the  Ecole  de  Droit,  the 
Beaux  Arts,  the  Observatoire,  and  the  student 
ateliers  of  the  Latin  Quarter,  all  go  to  make  it  some- 
thing quite  foreign  to  any  other  section  of  Paris. 

The  present  structure  known  as  "  The  Sor- 
bonne "  was  built  by  Richelieu  in  1629,  as  a  sort 
of  glorified  successor  to  the  ancient  foundation  of 
Robert  de  Sorbonne,  confessor  to  St.  Louis  in  1253. 
The  present  Universite,  as  an  institution,  was 
founded,  among  many  other  good  and  valuable 
things,  which  he  has  not  always  been  given  credit 
for,  by  the  astute  Napoleon  I. 

With  the  work  of  the  romancer,  it  is  the  unex- 
pected that  always  happens.  But  this  very  unexpect- 

244 


X'^nivcteitc  CJuartier  245 

edness  is  only  another  expression  of  naturalness; 
which  raises  the  question:  Is  not  the  romancist 
more  of  a  realist  than  is  commonly  supposed? 

Dumas  often  accomplished  the  unconventional, 
and  often  the  miraculous,  but  the  gallant  attack  of 
D'Artagnan  and  his  three  whilom  adversaries 
against  the  Cardinal's  Guard  is  by  no  means  an 
impossible  or  unreasonable  incident.  Considering 
Dumas'  ingenuity  and  freedom,  it  would  be  un- 
reasonable to  expect  that  things  might  not  take  the 
turn  that  they  did. 

Of  "  Les  Trois  Mousquetaires  "  alone,  the  scheme 
of  adventure  and  incident  is  as  orderly  and  saga- 
cious as  though  it  had  been  laid  down  by  the  wily 
cardinal  himself;  and  therein  is  Dumas'  success  as 
the  romancist  par  excellence  of  his  time.  A  ro- 
mancist who  was  at  least  enough  of  a  realist  to 
be  natural,  if  unconventional. 

Dumas  is  supposed  to  have  fallen  from  the 
heights  scaled  by  means  of  "  Les  Trois  Mousque- 
taires," when  he  wrote  "  Vingt  Ans  Apres."  As 
a  piece  of  literary  workmanship,  this  perhaps  is  so; 
as  a  chronicle  of  great  interest  to  the  reader,  who 
would  trace  the  movement  of  its  plot  by  existing 
stones  and  shrines,  it  is  hardly  the  case. 

One  can  get  up  a  wonderful  enthusiasm  for  the 
old  Luxembourg  quarter,  which  the  Gascon  Don 


246  Dumas'  Paris 

Quixote  entered  by  one  of  the  southern  gates,  astride 
his  Rosinante.  The  whole  neighbourhood  abounds 
with  reminiscences  of  the  characters  of  the  tale: 
D'Artagnan,  with  the  Rue  des  Fossoyeurs,  now  the 
Rue  Servandoni;  Athos  with  the  Rue  Ferou; 
Aramis,  with  the  Rue  de  la  Harpe,  and  so  on. 

There  is,  however,  a  certain  tangible  sentimen- 
tality connected  with  the  adventures  of  Athos, 
Aramis,  D'Artagnan,  and  Porthos  in  "  Twenty 
Years  After,'*  that  is  not  equalled  by  the  earlier 
book,  the  reputed  scenes  of  which  have,  to  some 
extent,  to  be  taken  on  faith. 

In  "  Vingt  Ans  Apres,"  the  scene  shifts  rapidly 
and  constantly :  from  the  Rue  Tiquetonne,  in  Paris, 
to  the  more  luxurious  precincts  of  the  Palais  Royal ; 
countrywards  to  Compiegne,  to  Pierrefonds  — 
which  ultimately  came  into  the  possession  of  Por- 
thos; to  England,  even;  and  southward  as  far 
as  Blois  in  Touraine,  near  to  which  was  the  cotmtry 
estate  of  Athos. 

At  the  comer  of  the  Rue  Vaugirard,  which  passes 
the  front  of  the  Luxembourg  Palace,  and  the  Rue 
Cassette,  is  the  wall  of  the  Carmelite  Friary,  where 
D'Artagnan  repaired  to  fulfil  his  duelling  engage- 
ments with  the  three  musketeers  of  the  company 
of  De  Treville,  after  the  incidents  of  the  shoulder 


1 

^^^^^^^^^^^^pi^^E^Bj^^H^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^I 

1 

1 

1 

2 

^^^^^^^HHi^^^'               l^^H 

CARMKLITE    FRIARY,    RUE    VAUGIRARD 


X'THnipetBitc  Quartier  247 

of  Athos,  the  baldric  of  Porthos,  and  the  hand- 
kerchief of  Aramis. 

Both  sides  of  the  river,  and,  indeed,  the  Cite 
itself,  are  alive  with  the  association  of  the  King's 
Musketeers  and  the  Cardinal's  Guards;  so  much 
so  that  one,  with  even  a  most  superficial  knowledge 
of  Paris  and  the  D'Artagnan  romances,  cannot  fail 
to  follow  the  shifting  of  the  scenes  from  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  Palais  du  Luxembourg,  in  "  Les 
Trois  Mousquetaires,"  to  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
Palais  Royal,  in  "  Vingt  Ans  Apres "  and  the 
"  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne." 

In  "  Le  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne,"  the  fraternal 
mousquetaires  take  somewhat  varying  paths  from 
those  which  they  pursued  in  the  first  two  volumes 
of  the  series.  Porthos  and  Athos  had  arrived  at 
distinction  and  wealth,  and  surrounded  themselves 
accordingly ;  though,  when  they  came  to  Paris,  they 
were  doubtless  frequenters  —  at  times  —  of  their 
old  haunts,  but  they  had  perforce  to  live  up  to  their 
exalted  stations. 

With  D'Artagnan  and  Aramis  this  was  not  so 
true.  D'Artagnan,  it  would  seem,  could  not  leave 
his  beloved  Palais  Royal  quarter,  though  his  lodg- 
ings in  the  hotel  in  the  Rue  Tiquetonne  could  have 
been  in  no  way  luxurious,  judging  from  present- 
day  appearances. 


248  Dumas'  ©arts 

In  the  Universite  quarter,  running  squarely  up 
from  the  Seine  is  a  short,  unpretentious,  though 
not  unlovely,  street  —  the  Rue  Guenegard. 

It  runs  by  the  Hotel  de  la  Monnaie,  and  em- 
bouches  on  the  Quai  Conti,  but  if  you  ask  for  it  from 
the  average  stroller  on  the  quais,  he  will  reply  that 
he  never  heard  of  it. 

It  was  here,  however,  at  "  Au  Grand  Roi  Charle- 
magne," "  a  respectable  inn,"  that  Athos  lived  dur- 
ing his  later  years. 

In  the  course  of  three  hundred  years  this  inn  has 
disappeared,  —  if  it  ever  existed,  —  though  there 
are  two  hotels,  now  somewhat  decrepit,  on  the  short 
length  of  the  street. 

Perhaps  it  was  one  of  these,  —  the  present  Hotel 
de  France,  for  instance,  —  but  there  are  no  exist- 
ing records  to  tell  us  beyond  doubt  that  this  is  so. 

There  is  another  inn  which  Dumas  mentions  in 
"  The  Forty-Five  Guardsmen,"  not  so  famous,  and 
not  traceable  to-day,  but  his  description  of  it  is 
highly  interesting  and  amusing. 

"  Near  the  Porte  Buci,"  says  Chapter  VII.  of  the 
book  before  mentioned,  "  where  we  must  now  trans- 
port our  readers,  to  follow  some  of  their  acquaint- 
ances, and  to  make  new  ones,  a  hum,  like  that  in 
a  beehive  at  sunset,  was  heard  proceeding  from  a 
house  tinted  rose  colour,  and  ornamented  with  blue 


l/'mnivcrsttc  (Sittattier  249 

and  white  pointings,  which  was  known  by  the  sign 
of  *  The  Sword  of  the  Brave  ChevaHer/  and  which 
was  an  immense  inn,  recently  built  in  this  new 
quarter.  This  house  was  decorated  to  suit  all  tastes. 
On  the  entablature  was  painted  a  representation  of 
a  combat  between  an  archangel  and  a  dragon 
breathing  flame  and  smoke,  and  in  which  the  artist, 
animated  by  sentiments  at  once  heroic  and  pious, 
had  depicted  in  the  hands  of  '  the  brave  chevalier,' 
not  a  sword,  but  an  immense  cross,  with  which  he 
hacked  in  pieces  the  unlucky  dragon,  of  which  the 
bleeding  pieces  were  seen  lying  on  the  ground. 
At  the  bottom  of  the  picture  crowds  of  spectators 
were  represented  raising  their  arms  to  heaven,  while 
from  above  angels  were  extending  over  the  chevalier 
laurels  and  palms.  Then,  as  if  to  prove  that  he 
could  paint  in  every  style,  the  artist  had  grouped 
around  gourds,  grapes,  a  snail  on  a  rose,  and  two 
rabbits,  one  white  and  the  other  gray. 

"  Assuredly  the  proprietor  must  have  been  diffi- 
cult to  please,  if  he  were  not  satisfied,  for  the  artist 
had  filled  every  inch  of  space  —  there  was  scarcely 
room  to  have  added  a  caterpillar.  In  spite,  how- 
ever, of  this  attractive  exterior,  the  hotel  did  not 
prosper  —  it  was  never  more  than  half  full,  though 
it  was  large  and  comfortable.  Unfortunately,  from 
its  proximity  to  the  Pre-aux-Clercs,   it  was  fre- 


250  Dumas*  ipatts 

quented  by  so  many  persons  either  going  or  ready 
to  fight,  that  those  more  peaceably  disposed  avoided 
it.  Indeed,  the  cupids  with  which  the  interior  was 
decorated  had  been  ornamented  with  moustaches  in 
charcoal  by  the  habitues;  and  Dame  Foumichon, 
the  landlady,  always  affirmed  that  the  sign  had 
brought  them  ill-luck,  and  that,  had  her  wishes  been 
attended  to,  and  the  painting  represented  more 
pleasing  things,  such  as  the  rose-tree  of  love  sur- 
rounded by  flaming  hearts,  all  tender  couples  would 
have  flocked  to  them. 

"  M.  Fournichon,  however,  stuck  to  his  sign,  and 
replied  that  he  preferred  fighting  men,  and  that  one 
of  them  drank  as  much  as  six  lovers.** 

Dumas'  reference  to  this  curiously  disposed 
"  happy  family  "  calls  to  mind  the  aneccjote  which 
he  recounts  in  "  The  Taking  of  the  Bastille,"  con- 
cerning salamanders: 

"  The  famous  trunk,  which  had  now  been  digni- 
fied with  the  name  of  desk,  had  become,  thanks 
to  its  vastness,  and  the  numerous  compartments 
with  which  Pitou  had  decorated  its  interior,  a  sort 
of  Noah's  ark,  containing  a  couple  of  every  species 
of  climbing,  crawling,  or  flying  reptiles.  There 
were  lizards,  adders,  ant-eaters,  beetles,  and  frogs, 
which  reptiles  became  so  much  dearer  to  PItou  from 


%'TSXnivcxsitc  (Siuartier  25* 

their  being  the  cause  of  his  being  subjected  to  pun- 
ishment more  or  less  severe. 

"  It  was  in  his  walks  during  the  week  that  Pitou 
made  collections  for  his  menagerie.  He  had  wished 
for  salamanders,  which  were  very  popular  at  Villers- 
Cotterets,  being  the  crest  of  Frangois  I.,  and  who 
had  them  sculptured  on  every  chimneypiece  in  the 
chateau.  He  had  succeeded  in  obtaining  them; 
only  one  thing  had  strongly  preoccupied  his  mind, 
and  he  ended  by  placing  this  thing  among  the  num- 
ber of  those  which  were  beyond  his  intelligence ;  it 
was,  that  he  had  constantly  found  in  the  water 
these  reptiles  which  poets  have  pretended  exist  only 
in  fire.  This  circumstance  had  given  to  Pitou,  who 
was  a  lad  of  precise  mind,  a  profound  contempt  for 
poets." 

Here,  at  "  The  Sword  of  the  Brave  Chevalier," 
first  met  the  "  Forty-Five  Guardsmen."  In  the 
same  street  is,  or  was  until  recently,  a  modernized 
and  vulgarized  inn  of  similar  name,  which  was  more 
likely  to  have  been  an  adaption  from  the  pages 
of  Dumas  than  a  direct  descendant  of  the  original, 
if  it  ever  existed.  It  is  the  Hotel  la  Tremouille, 
near  the  Luxembourg,  that  figures  in  the  pages  of 
"  Les  Trois  Mousquetaires,"  but  the  hotel  of  the 
Due  de  Treville,  in  the  Rue  du  Vieux-Colombier, 


252  2)uma5'  Paris 

has  disappeared  in  a  rebuilding  or  widening  of 
this  street,  which  runs  from  the  Place  de  St.  Sul- 
pice  to  the  Place  de  la  Croix-Rouge. 

All  these  places  centre  around  that  famous  affaire 
which  took  place  before  the  Carmelite  establishment 
on  the  Rue  Vaugirard:  that  gallant  sword-play  of 
Athos,  Porthos,  and  Aramis,  —  helped  by  the  not 
unwilling  D'Artagnan,  —  against  Richelieu's  min- 
ions, headed  by  Jussac. 

Within  the  immediate  neighbourhood,  too,  is 
much  of  the  locale  of  "  Les  Trois  Mousquetaires." 
Here  the  four  friends  themselves  lodged,  "  just 
around  the  comer,  within  two  steps  of  the  Luxem- 
bourg," though  Porthos  more  specifically  claimed 
his  residence  as  in  the  Rue  de  Vieux-Colombier. 
"  That  is  my  abode,"  said  he,  as  he  proudly  pointed 
to  its  gorgeous  doorway. 

The  Hotel  de  Chevreuse  of  ''la  Frondeuse 
dtu:hesse/'  famed  alike  in  history  and  the  pages 
of  Dumas,  is  yet  to  be  seen  in  somewhat  changed 
form  at  No.  201  Boulevard  St.  Germain;  its  gar- 
den cut  away  by  the  Boulevard  Raspail. 

At  No.  12  or  14  Rue  des  Fossoyeurs,  beside  the 
Pantheon,  —  still  much  as  it  was  of  yore,  —  was 
D'Artagnan's  own  "  sort  of  a  garret."  One  may 
not  be  able  to  exactly  place  it,  but  any  of  the  de- 


%''^nivcv3itc  (Sluartiet  253 

crepitly  picturesque  houses  will  answer  the  descrip- 
tion. 

It  is  a  wonderfully  varied  and  interesting  collec- 
tion of  buildings  which  is  found  on  the  height  of 
Ste.  Genevieve,  overlooking  the  Jardin  and  Palais 
du  Luxembourg:  the  hybrid  St.  Etienne  du  Mont, 
the  pagan  Pantheon,  the  tower  of  the  ancient 
Abbaye  de  Ste.  Genevieve,  and  the  Bibliotheque, 
which  also  bears  the  name  of  Paris's  patron 
saint. 

The  old  abbey  must  have  had  many  and  varied 
functions,  if  history  and  romance  are  to  be  believed, 
and  to-day  its  tower  and  a  few  short  lengths  of 
wall,  built  into  the  Lycee  Henri  Quatre,  are  all 
that  remain,  unless  it  be  that  the  crypt  and  dungeons, 
of  which  one  reads  in  "  Chicot  the  Jester,"  are  still 
existent.  Probably  they  are,  but,  if  so,  they  have 
most  likely  degenerated  into  mere  lumber-rooms. 

The  incident  as  given  by  Dumas  relates  briefly 
to  the  plot  of  the  Guises  to  induce  Charles  IX.,  on 
the  plea  of  some  religious  ceremony,  to  enter  one 
of  the  monkish  caches,  and  there  compel  him  to 
sign  his  abdication.  The  plot,  according  to  the 
novelist,  was  frustrated  by  the  ingenious  Chi- 
cot. 

At  all  events,  the  ensemble  to-day  is  one  most 


254  Dumas'  parts 

unusual,  and  the  whole  locality  literally  reeks  with 
the  associations  of  tradition. 

Architecturally  it  is  a  jumble,  good  in  parts,  but 
again  shocking  in  other  parts. 

The  figlise  St.  Etienne  du  Mont  is  a  weird  con- 
trast of  architectural  style,  but  its  interior  is  truly 
beautiful,  and  on  the  wall  near  the  south  transept 
are  two  tablets,  on  which  one  may  read  the  facts 
concerning  Ste.  Genevieve,  which  likely  enough 
have  for  the  moment  been  forgotten  by  most  of 
us. 

The  old  abbey  must  have  been  a  delightful  place, 
in  spite  of  the  lurid  picture  which  Dumas  draws 
of  it. 

Probably  in  none  of  Dumas*  romances  is  there 
more  lively  action  than  in  "  The  Queen's  Neck- 
lace." The  characters  are  in  a  continual  migration 
between  one  and  another  of  the  faubourgs.  Here, 
again,  Dumas  does  not  forget  or  ignore  the  Lux- 
embourg and  its  environment.  He  seems,  indeed, 
to  have  a  special  fondness  for  its  neighbourhood. 
It  was  useful  to  him  in  most  of  the  Valois  series, 
and  doubly  so  in  the  D'Artagnan  romances. 

Beausire,  one  of  the  thieves  who  sought  to  steal 
the  famous  necklace,  "  took  refuge  in  a  small  cabaret 
in    the    Luxembourg    quarter."      The    particular 


3L'mnit>ct0tte  (Sluarttet  255 

cabaret  is  likely  enough  in  existence  to-day,  as  the 
event  took  place  but  a  hundred  years  ago,  and 
Dumas  is  known  to  have  "  drawn  from  life  "  even 
his  pen-portraits  of  the  locale  of  his  stories.  At 
any  rate,  there  is  many  a  cabaret  near  the  Luxem- 
bourg which  might  fill  the  bill. 

The  gardens  of  the  Luxembourg  were  another 
favourite  haunt  of  the  characters  of  Dumas'  ro- 
mances, and  in  "  The  Queen's  Necklace  "  they  are 
made  use  of  again,  this  time,  as  usual,  as  a  suitable 
place  for  a  promenade  or  a  rendezvous  of  the  fair 
Oliva,  who  so  much  resembled  Marie  Antoinette. 

Like  the  Rue  du  Helder,  celebrated  in  "  The  Cor- 
sican  Brothers,"  the  Rue  de  Lille,  where  lived,  at 
No.  29,  De  Franchi's  friend,  Adrien  de  Boissy,  is 
possessed  of  an  air  of  semi-luxuriousness,  or,  at  any 
rate,  of  a  certain  middle-class  comfort. 

It  lies  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Seine  from  the 
river  side  of  the  Louvre,  and  runs  just  back  of 
the  site  formerly  occupied  by  the  Due  de  Mont- 
morenci,  where  was  held  the  gorgeous  ceremony 
of  the  marriage  of  the  Marquis  St.  Luc,  of  which 
one  reads  in  "  Chicot  the  Jester." 

There  is  not  much  of  splendour  or  romance  about 
the  present-day  Rue  de  Lille;  indeed,  it  is  rather 
commonplace,  but  as  Dumas  places  the  particular 


256  Dumas'  Paris 

house  in  which  De  Boissy  lived  with  definiteness, 
and,  moreover,  in  that  it  exists  to-day  practically 
unaltered,  there  seems  every  good  reason  why  it 
should  be  catalogued  here. 


0  u  a.  i    d  e  s    T  u  i  I  o  u  i  c  s 


Q    ^ 


THE    BUILDERS 


(I)  Fran9ois  I.,  1346 ;  (2)  Catherine  de  Medici,  1J66-1378 ;  (3)  Catherine  de  Medici,  1364  { 

1806;  (7)  Louis  XVIII.,  18 16;  (8)  Napole( 


--,«»*«:  i^ji'Tgis^^-^ss^ 


i:^>-^^i^^<i'm^- 


'.:^,-.. 


■v^l 


^ 


-^ 


»^K  ^ 


1<^  :j,;;i;^A-' 


1 ! 


>^ 


:Vi- 


\|/J 


1 


C'M  3b  tr.i^v;«:?tf)    i),  '.  >.V^\  ..^  '-.io^ru 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


THE   LOUVRE 


''''Paris  renferme  beaucoup  de  palais ;  mais  le  vrai palais 
de  Paris^  le  vrai  palais  de  la  France^  tout  le  monde  Va 
nommi^  —  c^est  le  Louvre!''' 

TT  "TVO^  the  first  appearance  of  "Marguerite 
I  J  de  Valois,"  a  critic  writing  in  Black- 
wood's Magazine,  has  chosen  to  commend 
Dumas'  directness  of  plot  and  purpose  in  a  manner 
which  every  lover  of  Dumas  and  student  of  history 
will  not  fail  to  appreciate.  He  says :  "  Dumas, 
according  to  his  custom,  introduces  a  vast  array 
of  characters,  for  the  most  part  historical,  all  spir- 
itedly drawn  and  well  sustained.  In  various  respects 
the  author  may  be  held  up  as  an  example  to  our 
own  history-spoilers,  and  self-styled  writers  of  his- 
torical romance.  One  does  not  find  him  profaning 
public  edifices  by  causing  all  sorts  of  absurdities 
to  pass,  and  of  twaddle  to  be  spoken,  within  their 
precincts;  neither  does  he  make  his  king  and 
beggar,   high-born   dame   and   private  soldier  use 

257 


2S8  2)uma0'  pari0 

the  very  same  language,  all  equally  tame,  colourless, 
and  devoid  of  character.  The  spirited  and  varied 
dialogue,  in  which  his  romances  abound,  illustrates 
and  brings  out  the  qualities  and  characteristics  of 
his  actors,  and  is  not  used  for  the  sole  purpose  of 
making  a  chapter  out  of  what  would  be  better  told 
in  a  page.  In  many  instances,  indeed,  it  would 
be  difficult  for  him  to  tell  his  story,  by  the  barest 
narrative,  in  fewer  words  than  he  does  by  pithy 
and  pointed  dialogue." 

No  edifice  in  Paris  itself,  nor,  indeed,  in  all 
France,  is  more  closely  identified  with  the  characters 
and  plots  of  Dumas*  romances  than  the  Louvre. 
In  the  Valois  cycle  alone,  the  personages  are  con- 
tinually flocking  and  stalking  thither;  some  mere 
puppets,  —  walking  gentlemen  and  ladies,  —  but 
many  more,  even,  who  are  personages  so  very  real 
that  even  in  the  pages  of  Dumas  one  forgets  that  it 
is  romance  pure  and  simple,  and  is  almost  ready 
to  accept  his  word  as  history.  This  it  is  not,  as  is 
well  recognized,  but  still  it  is  a  pleasant  manner 
of  bringing  before  the  omnivorous  reader  many 
facts  which  otherwise  he  might  ignore  or  perhaps 
overlook. 

It  really  is  not  possible  to  particularize  all  the 
action  of  Dumas'  romances  which  centred  around 
the  Louvre.     To  do   so   would  be  to  write  the 


Zbc  Xottvre  259 

mediaeval  history  of  the  famous  building,  or  to  pro- 
duce an  analytical  index  to  the  works  of  Dumas 
which  woiuld  somewhat  approach  in  bulk  the  cele- 
brated Chinese  encyclopaedia. 

We  learn  from  "  Le  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne" 
of  D'Artagnan's  great  familiarity  with  the  life 
which  went  on  in  the  old  chateau  of  the  Louvre. 
"  I  will  tell  you  where  M.  d'Artagnan  is,"  said 
Raoul;  "he  is  now  in  Paris;  when  on  duty,  he 
is  to  be  met  at  the  Louvre;  when  not  so,  in  the  Rue 
des  Lombards." 

This  describes  the  situation  exactly:  when  the 
characters  of  the  D'Artagnan  and  the  Valois  ro- 
mances are  not  actually  within  the  precincts  of  the 
Louvre,  they  have  either  just  left  it  or  are  about 
to  return  thither,  or  some  momentous  event  is  being 
enacted  there  which  bears  upon  the  plot. 

Perhaps  the  most  dramatic  incident  in  connection 
with  the  Louvre  mentioned  by  Dumas,  was  that 
of  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew's  night,  "  that 
bloody  deed  which  culminated  from  the  great  strug- 
gle which  devastated  France  in  the  latter  part  of 
the  sixteenth  century." 

Dumas  throws  in  his  lot  with  such  historians 
as  Ranke  and  Soldain,  who  prefer  to  think  that 
the  massacre  which  took  place  on  the  fete-day  of 
St.  Bartholomew  was  not  the  result  of  a  long  pre- 


26o  2)ttma6'  parts 

meditated  plot,  but  was  rather  the  fruit  of  a 
momentary  fanatical  terror  aroused  by  the  unsuc- 
cessful attempt  on  the  life  of  Coligny. 

This  aspect  is  apart  from  the  question.  The 
principal  fact  with  which  the  novelist  and  our- 
selves are  concerned  is  that  the  event  took  place 
much  as  stated:  that  it  was  from  the  Lduvre  that 
the  plot  —  if  plot  it  were  —  emanated,  and  that 
the  sounding  bell  of  St.  Germain  I'Auxerrois  did, 
on  that  fateful  night,  indicate  to  those  present  in  the 
Louvre  the  fact  that  the  bloody  massacre  had  begun. 

The  fabric  itself —  the  work  of  many  hands,  at 
the  instigation  of  so  many  minds  —  is  an  enduring 
monument  to  the  fame  of  those  who  projected  it, 
or  who  were  memorialized  thereby:  Philippe- Au- 
guste,  Marie  de  Medici,  Frangois  L,  Charles  IX., 
Henri  IV.,  Louis  XIV.,  Napoleon  I.,  —  who  did 
but  little,  it  is  true,  —  and  Napoleon  III.  —  who 
did  much,  and  did  it  badly. 

Besides  history,  bloody  deeds,  and  intrigue,  there 
is  also  much  of  sentiment  to  be  gathered  from  an 
observation  of  its  walls;  as  witness  the  sculptures 
and  decorations  of  Goujon  and  Lescot,  the  inter- 
laced monogram  G.  H.,  of  Henri  and  Gabrielle 
d'Estrees,  and  the  superimposed  crescents  of  the 
fair  Diane  de  Poitiers.  But  such  romances  as  these 
are  best  read  in  the  pages  of  Dumas. 


Zbc  Xouvre  261 

"  To  the  French  the  Louvre  is  more  than  a 
palace;  it  is  a  sanctuary,"  said  an  enthusiastic 
Frenchman.  As  such  it  is  a  shrine  to  be  wor- 
shipped by  itself,  though  it  is  pardonable  to  wish 
to  know  to-day  just  where  and  when  the  historic 
events  of  its  career  took  place. 

One  can  trace  the  outline,  in  white  marble,  of 
the  ancient  Qiateau  du  Louvre,  in  the  easterly 
courtyard  of  the  present  establishment ;  can  admire 
the  justly  celebrated  eastern  colonnade,  though  so 
defective  was  the  architect  in  his  original  plans 
that  it  overlaps  the  side  walls  of  the  connecting 
buildings  some  dozen  or  more  feet;  can  follow 
clearly  all  the  various  erections  of  monarchs  and 
eras,  and  finally  contemplate  the  tiny  columns  set 
about  in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries,  which  mark 
all  that  is  left  of  that  ambitious  edifice. 

The  best  description  of  the  Tuileries  by  Dumas 
comes  into  the  scene  in  "  The  Count  of  Monte 
Cristo,"  when  Villefort,  —  who  shares  with  Dan- 
glars  and  Fernand  the  distinction  of  being  the  vil- 
lain of  the  piece,  —  after  travelling  with  all  speed 
from  Marseilles  to  Paris,  "penetrates  the  two  or 
three  apartments  which  precede  it,  and  enters  the 
small  cabinet  of  the  Tuileries  with  the  arched  win- 
dow, so  well  known  as  having  been  the  favourite 


262  Bumas'  Paris 

cabinet  of  Napoleon  and  Louis  XVIIL,  as  also  that 
of  Louis-Philippe. 

"  There,  in  this  closet,  seated  before  a  walnut- 
tree  table  he  had  brought  with  him  from  Hartwell, 
and  to  which,  from  one  of  those  fancies  not  un- 
common to  great  people,  he  was  particularly 
attached,  the  king,  Louis  XVIIL,  was  carelessly 
listening  to  a  man  of  fifty  or  fifty-two  years  of 
age,  with  gray  hair,  aristocratic  bearing,  and  ex- 
ceedingly gentlemanly  attire,  whilst  he  was  making 
a  note  in  a  volume  of  Horace,  Gryphius's  edition, 
which  was  much  indebted  to  the  sagacious  observa- 
tions of  the  philosophical  monarch." 

Of  course,  an  author  of  to-day  would  have  ex- 
pressed it  somewhat  differently,  but  at  the  time  in 
which  Dumas  wrote,  the  little  cabinet  did  exist, 
and  up  to  the  time  of  the  destruction  of  the  palace, 
at  the  Commune,  was  doubtless  as  much  of  a  show- 
place  in  its  way  as  is  the  window  of  the  Louvre 
from  which  Charles  IX.  was  supposed  to  have  fired 
upon  the  fleeing  Huguenots  —  with  this  difference : 
that  the  cabinet  had  a  real  identity,  while  the  win- 
dow in  question  has  been  more  recently  ascertained 
as  not  having  been  built  at  the  time  of  the  event. 

Some  one  has  mentioned  Paris,  the  forgetter,  as 
if  modem  Paris  and  its  gay  life  —  for  assuredly  it 


Tlbe  Xouvte  263 

is  gay,  regardless  of  what  the  blase  folk  may  say 
or  think  —  had  entirely  blotted  out  from  its  memory 
the  horrors  of  St.  Bartholomew's  night,  the  trage- 
dies of  La  Roquette,  the  Conciergerie,  or  the 
Bastille. 

This  is  so  in  a  measure,  however,  though  one 
has  only  to  cross  the  square  which  lies  before  Les 
Halles,  La  Tour  St.  Jacques,  or  Notre  Dame,  to 
recall  most  vividly  the  tragedies  which  have  before 
been  enacted  there. 

The  Louvre  literally  reeks  with  the  intrigue  and 
bloodshed  of  political  and  religious  warfare;  and 
Dumas'  picture  of  the  murder  of  the  admiral,  and 
his  version  of  the  somewhat  apocryphal  incident  of 
Charles  IX.  potting  at  the  Protestant  victims,  with 
a  specially  made  and  garnished  firearm,  is  sufficiently 
convincing,  when  once  read,  to  suggest  the  recol- 
lections, at  least,  of  the  heartless  act.  From  the 
Louvre  it  is  but  a  step  —  since  the  Tuileries  has 
been  destroyed  —  to  the  Place  de  la  Concorde. 

When  this  great  square,  now  given  over  to  bird- 
fanciers,  automobilists,  and  photograph-sellers,  was 
first  cleared,  it  was  known  as  the  Place  de  la  Revo- 
lution. In  the  later  volumes  of  the  Valois  romances 
one  reads  of  a  great  calendar  of  scenes  and  inci- 
dents which  were  consummated  here.  It  is  too  large 
a  list  to  even  catalogue,  but  one  will  recollect  that 


264  Dumas'  parts 

here,  in  this  statue  surrounded  place,  with  playing 
fountains  glittering  in  the  sunlight,  is  buried  under  a 
brilliance — very  foreign  to  its  former  aspect — many 
a  grim  tragedy  of  profound  political  purport. 

It  was  here  that  Louis  XVI.  said,  "  I  die  inno- 
cent; I  forgive  my  enemies,  and  pray  God  to  avert 
his  vengeance  for  my  blood,  and  to  bless  my  peo- 
ple." To-day  one  sees  only  the  ornate  space,  the 
voitures  and  automobiles,  the  tricolour  floating  high 
on  the  Louvre,  and  this  forgetful  Paris,  brilliant 
with  sunlight,  green  with  trees,  beautified  by  good 
government,  which  offers  in  its  kiosks,  cafes,  and 
theatres  the  fulness  of  the  moment  at  every  turn. 
Paris  itself  truly  forgets,  if  one  does  not. 

The  Louvre  as  it  is  known  to-day  is  a  highly 
intricate  composition.  Its  various  parts  have  grown, 
not  under  one  hand,  but  from  a  common  root,  until 
it  blossomed  forth  in  its  full  glory  when  the  west- 
ern front  of  Catherine  de  Medici  took  form. 
Unfortunately,  with  its  disappearance  at  the  Com- 
mune the  completeness  of  this  elaborate  edifice  went 
for  ever. 

One  is  apt  to  overlook  the  fact  that  the  old 
Louvre,  the  ancienne  Palais  du  Louvre,  was  a  medi- 
aeval battlemented  and  turreted  structure,  which 
bore  little  resemblance  to  the  Louvre  of  to-day,  or 


THE    GARDENS    OF    THE    TUILERIES 


Ube  Xouvte  265 

even  that  of  Charles,  Henri,  Catherine,  or  Mar- 
guerite, of  whom  Dumas  wrote  in  the  Valois  ro- 
mances. 

The  general  ground-plan  of  the  two  distinct  por- 
tions is  the  same,  except  for  some  minor  additions 
of  Napoleon  I.  and  the  connecting  links  built  by 
Napoleon  III.,  and  many  of  the  apartments  are 
of  course  much  the  same,  but  there  has  been  a 
general  laying  out  of  the  courts  anew,  and  tree- 
planting  and  grading  of  the  streets  and  quais  in  the 
immediate  neighbourhood;  so  much  so  that  almost 
the  entire  aspect  is  changed.  In  spite  of  its  com- 
positeness,  there  is  a  certain  aspect  of  uniformity 
of  outline,  though  not  of  excellence  of  design. 

The  only  relics  of  the  Palace  of  the  Tuileries  are 
the  colonnettes  set  about  in  the  garden  and  sur- 
mounted by  gilded  balls. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


THE   PALAIS  ROYAL 


/T  seems  hardly  necessary  to  more  than  men- 
tion the  name  of  the  Palais  Royal,  in  con- 
nection with  either  the  life  or  the  writ- 
ings of  Alexandre  Dumas,  to  induce  a  line  of 
thought  which  is  practically  limitless.  It  was  identi- 
fied with  Dumas'  first  employment  in  the  capital, 
and  it  has  been  the  scene  of  much  of  the  action  of 
both  the  D'Artagnan  and  the  Valois  romances. 

More  than  all  else,  however,  though  one  is  apt 
to  overlook  it  somewhat,  it  is  so  closely  identified 
with  Richelieu  that  it  is  difficult  to  separate  it  from 
any  event  of  French  political  history  of  the  period. 

It  was  built  by  Richelieu  in  1629,  on  the  site  oc- 
cupied by  the  Hotels  de  Mercoeur  and  Rambouillet, 
and  was  originally  intended  to  have  borne  the  name 
of  Hotel  Richelieu.  Toward  1634  it  was  enlarged, 
and  was  known  as  the  Palais  Cardinal.  Finally  it 
was  presented,  in  1642,  to  Louis  XIII.,  and  at  his 
death  came  to  Anne  of  Austria,  when  the  royal 

266 


TLbc  lPalaf6  IRoi^al  267 

family  removed  thither  and  it  became  known  as  the 
Palais  Royal. 

The  incident  of  the  flight  of  the  royal  family 
and  Mazarin  to  St  Germain  is  one  of  the  historic 
and  dramatic  incidents  which  Dumas  used  as  one  of 
the  events  in  which  D'Artagnan  participated. 

The  court  never  returned  to  make  use  of  the 
Palais  Royal  as  a  royal  residence,  and  it  became 
the  refuge  of  Henriette  de  France,  Queen  of  Eng- 
land and  widow  of  Charles  I.  Thirty  years  later 
Louis  XIV.,  who  had  fled  from  its  walls  when  a 
child,  gave,  it  to  his  nephew  Philippe  d' Orleans, 
Due  de  dartres. 

It  was  during  the  Regence  that  the  famous  fetes 
of  the  Palais  Royal  were  organized,  —  they  even  ex- 
tended to  what  the  unsympathetic  have  called  or- 
gies, —  but  it  is  certain  that  no  town  residences 
of  kings  were  ever  as  celebrated  for  their  splendid 
functions  as  was  the  Palais  Royal  in  the  seven- 
teenth century. 

In  1763  a  fire  brought  about  certain  reconstruc- 
tions at  the  expense  of  the  city  of  Paris.  In  1781, 
it  became  again  the  prey  of  fire;  and  Philippe- 
figalite,  who  was  then  Due  de  Chartres,  constructed 
the  three  vast  galleries  which  surround  the  Palais 
of  to-day. 

The  boutiques  of  the  galleries  were  let  to  mer- 


268  Dumas'  Paris 

chants  of  all  manner  of  foibles,  and  it  became  the 
most  lively  quarter  of  Paris. 

The  public  adopted  the  galleries  as  fashionable 
promenades,  which  became,  for  the  time,  *'  un  hazar 
europeen  et  im  rendez-vous  d'affaires  et  de  galatv- 
terie" 

It  was  in  1783  that  the  Due  d'Orleans  constructed 
'' une  salle  de  spectacle"  which  to-day  is  the  Theatre 
du  Palais  Royal,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  garden 
a  cirque  which  ultimately  came  to  be  transformed 
into  a  restaurant. 

The  purely  theatrical  event  of  the  history  of  the 
Palais  Royal  came  on  the  13th  of  July,  1789,  when 
at  midday  —  as  the  coup  of  a  petit  canon  rang  out 
—  a  young  unknown  auocat,  Camille  Desmoulins, 
mounted  a  chair  and  addressed  the  throng  of  prom- 
enaders  in  a  thrilling  and  vibrant  voice : 

''  Citoyens,  f  arrive  de  Versailles!  —  Necker  is 
fled  and  the  Baron  Breteuil  is  in  his  place.  Breteuil 
is  one  of  those  who  have  demanded  the  head  of 
Mirabeau  .  .  .  there  remains  but  one  resource,  and 
that  '  to  arms '  and  to  wear  the  cockade  that  we 
may  be  known.     Quelle  couleur  voulez-vousf  " 

With  almost  a  common  accord  the  tricolour  was 
adopted  —  and  the  next  day  the  Bastille  fell. 

Dumas'  account  of  the  incident,  taken  from  "  The 
Taking  of  the  Bastille,"  is  as  follows: 


Zbc  lPalat6  IRo^al  269 

"  During  this  time  the  procession  kept  on  ad- 
vancing; it  had  moved  obliquely  to  the  left,  and  had 
gone  down  the  Rue  Montmartre  to  the  Place  des 
Victoires.  When  it  reached  the  Palais  Royal  some 
great  impediment  prevented  its  passing  on.  A  troop 
of  men  with  green  leaves  in  their  hats  were  shout- 
ing *  To  arms ! ' 

"  It  was  necessary  to  reconnoitre.  Were  these 
men  who  blocked  up  the  Rue  Vivienne  friends  or 
enemies  ?  Green  was  the  colour  of  the  Count  d'Ar- 
tois.    Why  then  these  green  cockades  ? 

"  After  a  minute's  conference  all  was  explained. 

"  On  learning  the  dismissal  of  Necker,  a  young 
man  had  issued  from  the  Cafe  Foy,  had  jumped 
upon  a  table  in  the  garden  of  the  Palais  Royal,  and, 
taking  a  pistol  from  his  breast,  had  cried  *  To  arms ! ' 

"  On  hearing  this  cry,  all  the  persons  who  were 
walking  there  had  assembled  around  him,  and  had 
shouted  '  To  arms ! ' 

"  We  have  already  said  that  all  the  foreign  regi- 
ments had  been  collected  around  Paris.  One  might 
have  imagined  that  it  was  an  invasion  by  the  Aus- 
trians.  The  names  of  these  regiments  alarmed  the 
ears  of  all  Frenchmen;  they  were  Reynac,  Salis 
Samade,  Diesbach,  Esterhazy,  Roemer;  the  very 
naming  of  them  was  sufficient  to  make  the  crowd 
understand  that  they  were  the  names  of  enemies. 


2  70  Dumas*  parts 

The  young  man  named  them;  he  announced  that 
the  Swiss  were  encamped  in  the  Champs  Elysees, 
with  four  pieces  of  artillery,  and  that  they  were  to 
enter  Paris  the  same  night,  preceded  by  the  drag- 
oons, commanded  by  Prince  Lambesq.  He  pro- 
posed a  new  cockade  which  was  not  theirs,  snatched 
a  leaf  from  a  chestnut-tree  and  placed  it  in  the 
band  of  his  hat.  Upon  the  instant  every  one  present 
followed  his  example.  Three  thousand  persons  had 
in  ten  minutes  unleaved  the  trees  of  the  Palais 
Royal. 

"  That  morning  no  one  knew  the  name  of  that 
young  man ;   in  the  evening  it  was  in  every  mouth. 

"  That  young  man's  name  was  Camille  Des- 
moulins." 

After  1793  the  Palais  Royal  was  converted,  by 
decree,  into  the  Palais  et  Jardin  de  la  Revolution, 
and  reunited  to  the  domains  of  the  state.  Napo- 
leon I.  granted  its  use  to  the  Tribunal  for  its  seances, 
and  Lucien  Bonaparte  inhabited  it  for  the  "  Hun- 
dred Days."  In  1830  Louis-Philippe,  Due  d'Or- 
leans,  gave  there  a  fete  in  honour  of  the  King  of 
Naples,  who  had  come  to  pay  his  respects  to  the 
King  of  France.  Charles  X.  assisted  as  an  invited 
guest  at  the  function,  but  one  month  after  he  had 
inhabited  it  as  king. 


XTbe  Ipalais  IRoi^al  271 

Under  Napoleon  III.  the  Palais  Royal  was  the 
residence  of  Prince  Jerome,  the  uncle  of  the  em- 
peror, afterward  that  of  his  son  the  Prince  Napo- 
leon, when  the  fleur-de-lis  sculptured  on  the  facade 
gave  way  before  escutcheons  bearing  the  imperial 
eagles,  which  in  turn  have  since  given  way  to  the 
Republican  device  of  "  '48  "  —  "  Liberte,  figalite, 
Fraternite." 

It  is  with  a  remarkable  profusion  of  detail  —  for 
Dumas,  at  any  rate  —  that  the  fourteenth  chapter 
of  "  The  Conspirators  "  opens. 

It  is  a  veritable  guide-book  phraseology  and  con- 
ciseness, which  describes  the  streets  of  the  Palais 
Royal  quarter: 

"  The  evening  of  the  same  day,  which  was  Sun- 
day, toward  eight  o'clock,  at  the  moment  when  a 
considerable  group  of  men  and  women,  assembled 
around  a  street  singer,  who  was  playing  at  the  same 
time  the  cymbals  with  his  knees  and  the  tambourine 
with  his  hands,  obstructed  the  entrance  to  the  Rue 
de  Valois,  a  musketeer  and  two  of  the  light  horse 
descended  a  back  staircase  of  the  Palais  Royal,  and 
advanced  toward  the  Passage  du  Lycee,  which,  as 
every  one  knows,  opened  on  to  that  street ;  but  seeing 
the  crowd  which  barred  the  way,  the  three  soldiers 
stopped  and  appeared  to  take  counsel.     The  result 


272  Bumas'  Paris 

of  their  deliberation  was  doubtless  that  they  must 
take  another  route,  for  the  musketeer,  setting  the 
example  of  a  new  manoeuvre,  threaded  the  Cour 
des  Fontaines,  turned  the  comer  of  the  Rue  des 
Bons  Enfants,  and,  walking  rapidly,  —  though  he 
was  extremely  corpulent,  —  arrived  at  No.  22, 
which  opened  as  by  enchantment  at  his  approach, 
and  closed  again  on  him  and  his  two  companions. 

"...  The  crowd  dispersed.  A  great  many 
men  left  the  circle,  singly,  or  two  and  two,  turning 
toward  each  other  with  an  imperceptible  gesture  of 
the  hand,  some  by  the  Rue  de  Valois,  some  by  the 
Cour  des  Fontaines,  some  by  the  Palais  Royal  itself, 
thus  surrounding  the  Rue  des  Bons  Enfants,  which 
seemed  to  be  the  centre  of  the  rendezvous." 

The  locality  has  not  changed  greatly  since  the 
times  of  which  Dumas  wrote,  and  if  one  would  see 
for  himself  this  Rue  de  Bons  Enfants,  Numero  22, 
and  try  to  find  out  how  the  Regent  of  France  was 
able  to  climb  over  the  roof-tops  to  the  Palais  Royal, 
for  a  wager,  he  may  still  do  so,  for  apparently  the 
roof-tops  have  changed  but  little.  The  especial 
connection  of  the  Rue  des  Bons  Enfants  with  liter- 
ature is  perhaps  Sylvestre's  establishment,  which 
will,  for  a  price,  sell  you  almost  any  French  celeb- 
rity's autograph,  be  he  king,  prince,  painter,  or 
litterateur. 


XTbe  l^alais  iRo^al  273 

In  the  "Vicomte  de  Bragelonne"  there  is  a 
wonderfully  interesting  chapter,  which  describes 
Mazarin's  gaming-party  at  the  Palais  Royal. 

In  that  it  enters  somewhat  more  into  detail  than 
is  usual  with  Dumas,  it  appears  worth  quoting  here, 
if  only  for  its  description  of  the  furnishing  of  the 
salle  in  which  the  event  took  place,  and  its  most 
graphic  and  truthful  picture  of  the  great  cardinal 
himself : 

"  In  a  large  chamber  of  the  Palais  Royal,  cov- 
ered with  a  dark-coloured  velvet,  which  threw  into 
strong  relief  the  gilded  frames  of  a  great  number 
of  magnificent  pictures,  on  the  evening  of  the  arrival 
of  the  two  Frenchmen,  the  whole  court  was  assem- 
bled before  the  alcove  of  M.  le  Cardinal  de  Mazarin, 
who  gave  a  party,  for  the  purposes  of  play,  to  the 
king  and  queen.  A  small  screen  separated  three 
prepared  tables.  At  one  of  these  tables  the  king  and 
the  two  queens  were  seated.  Louis  XIV.,  placed 
opposite  to  the  young  queen,  his  wife,  smiled  upon 
her  with  an  expression  of  real  happiness.  Anne  of 
Austria  held  the  cards  against  the  cardinal,  and 
her  daughter-in-law  assisted  her  in  her  game,  when 
she  was  not  engaged  in  smiling  at  her  husband. 
As  for  the  cardinal,  who  was  reclining  on  his  bed, 
his  cards  were  held  by  the  Comtesse  de  Soissons, 


274  Dumas'  Paris 

and  he  watched  them  with  an  incessant  look  of  in- 
terest and  cupidity. 

"  The  cardinal  had  been  painted  by  Bcmouin ; 
but  the  rouge,  which  glowed  only  on  his  cheeks, 
threw  into  stronger  contrast  the  sickly  pallor  of  the 
rest  of  his  countenance  and  the  shining  yellow  of 
his  brow.  His  eyes  alone  acquired  a  more  lively 
expression  from  this  auxiliary,  and  upon  those  sick 
man's  eyes  were,  from  time  to  time,  turned  the 
uneasy  looks  of  the  king,  the  queen,  and  the  court- 
iers. The  fact  is,  that  the  two  eyes  of  Mazarin 
were  the  stars  more  or  less  brilliant  in  which  the 
France  of  the  seventeenth  century  read  its  destiny 
every  evening  and  every  morning.  Monseigneur 
neither  won  nor  lost ;  he  was,  therefore,  neither  gay 
nor  sad.  It  was  a  stagnation  in  which,  full  of 
pity  for  him,  Anne  of  Austria  would  not  have 
willingly  left  him;  but  in  order  to  attract  the  at- 
tention of  the  sick  man  by  some  brilliant  stroke, 
she  must  have  either  won  or  lost.  To  win  would 
have  been  dangerous,  because  Mazarin  would  have 
changed  his  indifference  for  an  ugly  grimace;  to 
lose  would  likewise  have  been  dangerous,  because 
she  must  have  cheated,  and  the  Infanta,  who  watched 
her  game,  would,  doubtless,  have  exclaimed  against 
her  partiality  for  Mazarin.  Profiting  by  this  calm, 
the  courtiers  were  chatting.     When  not  in  a  bad 


Ube  ipalats  IRopal  275 

humour,  M.  de  Mazarin  was  a  very  debonnaire 
prince,  and  he,  who  prevented  nobody  from  sing- 
ing, provided  they  paid,  was  not  tyrant  enough  to 
prevent  people  from  talking,  provided  they  made 
up  their  minds  to  lose.  They  were  chatting,  then. 
At  the  first  table,  the  king's  younger  brother,  Philip, 
Due  d'Anjou,  was  admiring  his  handsome  face  in 
the  glass  of  a  box.  His  favourite,  the  Chevalier 
de  Lorraine,  leaning  over  the  fauteuil  of  the  prince, 
was  listening,  with  secret  envy,  to  the  Comte  de 
Guiche,  another  of  Philip's  favourites*  who  was 
relating  in  choice  terms  the  various  vicissitudes  of 
fortune  of  the  royal  adventurer,  Charles  II.  He 
told,  as  so  many  fabulous  events,  all  the  history  of 
his  peregrinations  in  Scotland,  and  his  terrors  when 
the  enemy's  party  was  so  closely  on  his  track;  of 
nights  passed  in  trees,  and  days  passed  in  hunger 
and  combats.  By  degrees,  the  fate  of  the  unfor- 
tunate king  interested  his  auditors  so  greatly,  that 
the  play  languished  even  at  the  royal  table,  and  the 
young  king,  with  a  pensive  look  and  downcast  eye, 
followed,  without  appearing  to  give  any  attention 
to  it,  the  smallest  details  of  this  Odyssey,  very 
picturesquely  related  by  the  Comte  de  Guiche." 

Again  mention  of  the  Palais  Royal  enters  into 
the  action   of   "  The   Queen's   Necklace."     When 


2  76  2)uma0'  lPari5 

Madame  de  la  Motte  and  her  companion  were  en 
route  to  Versailles  by  cabriolet,  "  they  met  a  delay 
at  the  gates  of  the  Palais  Royal,  where,  in  a  court- 
yard, which  had  been  thrown  open,  were  a  host 
of  beggars  crowding  around  fires  which  had  been 
lighted  there,  and  receiving  soup,  which  the  servants 
of  M.  le  Due  d'Orleans  were  distributing  to  them 
in  earthen  basins;  and  as  in  Paris  a  crowd  collects 
to  see  everything,  the  number  of  the  spectators  of 
this  scene  far  exceeded  that  of  the  actors. 

"  Here,  then,  they  were  again  obliged  to  stop, 
and,  to  their  dismay,  began  to  hear  distinctly  from 
behind  loud  cries  of  *  Down  with  the  cabriolet ! 
down  with  those  that  crush  the  poor ! ' 

"  *  Can  it  be  that  those  cries  are  addressed  to  us  ?  ' 
said  the  elder  lady  to  her  companion. 

"  *  Indeed,  madame,  I  fear  so,'  she  replied. 

"  *  Have  we,  do  you  think,  run  over  any  one? ' 

" '  I  am  sure  you  have  not.' 

"  *  To  the  magistrate !  to  the  magistrate ! '  cried 
several  voices. 

"'What  in  heaven's  name  does  it  all  mean?' 
said  the  lady. 

"  *  The  crowd  reproaches  you,  madame,  with 
having  braved  the  police  order  which  appeared  this 
morning,  prohibiting  all  cabriolets  from  driving 
through  the  streets  until  the  spring.' " 


Ube  Palais  IRoi^al  277 

This  must  have  been  something  considerable  of 
an  embargo  on  pleasure,  and  one  which  would 
hardly  obtain  to-day,  though  asphalted  pavements 
covered  with  a  film  of  frost  must  offer  untold  dan- 
gers, as  compared  with  the  streets  of  Paris  as  they 
were  then  —  in  the  latter  years  of  the  eighteenth 
century. 


CHAPTER   XV. 


THE   BASTILLE 


rHE  worshipper  at  the  shrines  made  famous 
by  Dumas  —  no  less  than  history  —  will 
look  in  vain  for  the  prison  of  La  Ro- 
quette,  the  Bastille,  the  hotel  of  the  Due  de  Guise, 
at  No.  12  Rue  du  Chaume,  that  of  Coligny  in  the 
Rue  de  Bethusy,  or  of  the  Montmorencies,  "  near 
the  Louvre." 

They  existed,  of  course,  in  reality,  as  they  did 
in  the  Valois  romances,  but  to-day  they  have  dis- 
appeared, and  not  even  the  '^  Commission  des 
Monuments  Historiques ''  has  preserved  a  pictorial 
representation  of  the  three  latter. 

One  of  Dumas'  most  absorbing  romances  deals 
with  the  fateful  events  which  culminated  at  the 
Bastille  on  the  14th  Thermidor,  1789.  "This 
monument,  this  seal  of  feudality,  imprinted  on  the 
forehead  of  Paris,"  said  Dumas,  "  was  the  Bas- 
tille," and  those  who  know  French  history  know 
that  he  wrote  truly. 

278 


UDc  JSastille  279 

The  action  of  "  The  Taking  of  the  Bastille,"  so 
far  as  it  deals  with  the  actual  assault  upon  it,  is 
brief.  So  was  the  event  itself.  Dumas  romances 
but  little  in  this  instance;  he  went  direct  to  fact 
for  his  details.     He  says : 

"  When  once  a  man  became  acquainted  with  the 
Bastille,  by  order  of  the  king,  that  man  was  for- 
gotten, sequestrated,  interred,  annihilated.  .  .  . 

"  Moreover,  in  France  there  was  not  only  one 
Bastille;  there  were  twenty  other  Bastilles,  which 
were  called  Fort  I'Eveque,  St.  Lazare,  the  Chatelet, 
the  Conciergerie,  Vincennes,  the  Castle  of  La  Roche, 
the  Castle  of  If,  the  Isles  of  St.  Marguerite,  Pigne- 
rolles,  etc. 

"  Only  the  fortress  at  the  Gate  St.  Antoine  was 
called  the  Bastille,  as  Rome  was  called  the  city.  .  .  . 

"  During  nearly  a  whole  century  the  governor- 
ship of  the  Bastille  had  continued  in  one  and  the 
same  family. 

"  The  grandfather  of  this  elect  race  was  M.  de 
Chateauneuf;  his  son  Lavrilliere  succeeded  him, 
who,  in  turn,  was  succeeded  by  his  grandson,  St. 
Florentin.  The  dynasty  became  extinct  in  1777.  .  .  . 

"  Among  the  prisoners,  it  will  be  recollected,  the 
following  were  of  the  greatest  note : 

"  The  Iron  Mask,  Lauzun,  Latude. 


28o  Dumas'  lPart0 

"  The  Jesuits  were  connoisseurs ;  for  greater 
security  they  confessed  the  prisoners. 

"  For  greater  security  still,  the  prisoners  were 
buried  under  supposititious  names. 

"  The  Iron  Mask,  it  will  be  remembered,  was 
buried  under  the  name  of  Marchiali.  He  had  re- 
mained forty-five  years  in  prison. 

"  Lauzun  remained  there  fourteen  years. 

"  Latude,   thirty  years.  .  .  . 

"  But,  at  all  events,  the  Iron  Mask  and  Lauzun 
had  committed  heinous  crimes. 

^ "  The  Iron  Mask,  whether  brother  or  not  of 
Louis  XIV.,  it  is  asserted,  resembled  King 
Louis  XIV.  so  strongly,  that  it  was  almost  im- 
possible to  distinguish  the  one  from  the  other. 

"  It  is  exceedingly  imprudent  to  dare  to  resemble 
a  king. 

"  Lauzun  had  been  very  near  marrying,  or  did 
actually  marry,  the  Grande  Mademoiselle. 

"  It  is  exceedingly  imprudent  to  dare  to  marry 
the  niece  of  King  Louis  XIIL,  the  granddaughter 
of  Henri  IV. 

"  But  Latude,  poor  devil,  what  had  he  done  ? 

"  He  had  dared  to  fall  in  love  with  Mile. 
Poisson,  Dame  de  Pompadour,  the  king's  mistress. 

"  He  had  written  a  note  to  her. 

"  This  note,  which  a  respectable  woman  would 


Zbc  Bastille  281 

have  sent  back  to  the  man  who  wrote  it,  was  handed 
by  Madame  de  Pompadour  to  M.  de  Sartines,  the 
Heutenant-general  of  poHce." 

"  To  the  Bastille ! "  was  the  cry  upon  which 
Dumas  built  up  his  story. 

"'To  the  Bastille!' 

"  Only  that  it  was  a  senseless  idea,  as  the  soldiers 
had  remarked,  that  the  Bastille  could  be  taken. 

"  The  Bastille  had  provisions,  a  garrison,  artil- 
lery. 

"  The  Bastille  had  walls,  which  were  fifteen  feet 
thick  at  their  summit,  and  forty  at  their  base. 

"  The  Bastille  had  a  governor,  whose  name  was 
De  Launay,  who  had  stored  thirty  thousand  pounds 
of  gunpowder  in  his  cellars,  and  who  had  sworn, 
in  case  of  being  surprised  by  a  coup  de  main,  to 
blow  up  the  Bastille,  and  with  it  half  the  Faubourg 
St.  Antoine." 

Dumas  was  never  more  chary  of  tiresome  de- 
scription than  in  the  opening  chapters  of  this  book. 
Chapter  XVI.  opens  as  follows: 

"  We  will  not  describe  the  Bastille  —  it  would 
be  useless. 

"  It  lives  as  an  eternal  image,  both  in  the  memory 
of  the  old  and  in  the  imagination  of  the  young. 

"  We  shall  content  ourselves  with  merely  stating, 
that,  seen  from  the  boulevard,  it  presented,  in  front 


282  2)uma6'  pari0 

of  the  square  then  called  Place  de  la  Bastille,  two 
twin  towers,  while  its  two  fronts  ran  parallel  with 
the  banks  of  the  canal  which  now  exists. 

"  The  entrance  to  the  Bastille  was  defended,  in 
the  first  place,  by  a  guard-house,  then  by  two  lines 
of  sentinels,  and  besides  these  by  two  drawbridges. 

"  After  having  passed  through  these  several  ob- 
stacles, you  came  to  the  courtyard  of  the  govern- 
ment-house—  that  is  to  say,  the  residence  of  the 
governor. 

"  From  this  courtyard  a  gallery  led  to  the  ditches 
of  the  Bastille. 

"  At  this  other  entrance,  which  opened  upon  the 
ditches,  was  a  drawbridge,  a  guard-house,  and  an 
iron  gate." 

Then  follow  some  pages  of  incident  and  action, 
which  may  be  fact  or  may  be  fiction.  The  detail 
which  comes  after  is  picturesque  and  necessary  to 
the  plot: 

"  The  interior  court,  in  which  the  governor  was 
waiting  for  Billot,  was  the  courtyard  which  served 
as  a  promenade  to  the  prisoners.  It  was  guarded 
by  eight  towers  —  that  is  to  say,  by  eight  giants. 
No  window  opened  into  it.  Never  did  the  sun 
shine  on  its  pavement,  which  was  damp  and  almost 
muddy.  It  might  have  been  thought  the  bottom  of 
an  immense  well. 


Ube  Bastille  283 

"  In  this  courtyard  was  a  clock,  supported  by 
figures  representing  enchained  captives,  which 
measured  the  hours,  from  which  fell  the  regular 
and  slow  sounds  of  the  minutes  as  they  passed  by, 
as  in  a  dungeon  the  droppings  from  the  ceiling  eat 
into  the  pavement  slabs  on  which  they  fall. 

"  At  the  bottom  of  this  well,  the  prisoner,  lost 
amid  the  abyss  of  stone,  for  a  moment  contemplated 
its  cold  nakedness,  and  soon  asked  to  be  allowed  to 
return  to  his  room.  ... 

"  At  the  Bastille,  all  the  places  were  sold  to  the 
highest  bidder,  from  that  of  the  governor  himself, 
down  to  that  of  the  scullion.  The  governor  of  the 
Bastille  was  a  gaoler  on  a  grand  scale,  an  eating- 
house  keeper  wearing  epaulets,  who  added  to  his 
salary  of  sixty  thousand  livres  sixty  thousand  more, 
which  he  extorted  and  plundered.  .  .  . 

"  M.  de  Launay,  in  point  of  avarice,  far  surpassed 
his  predecessors.  This  might,  perhaps,  have  arisen 
from  his  having  paid  more  for  the  place,  and  hav- 
ing foreseen  that  he  would  not  remain  in  it  so  long 
as  they  did. 

"  He  fed  his  whole  house  at  the  expense  of  his 
prisoners.  He  had  reduced  the  quantity  of  firing, 
and  doubled  the  hire  of  furniture  in  each  room. 

"  He  had  the  right  of  bringing  yearly  into  Paris 
a  hundred  pipes  of  wine,  free  of  duty.     He  sold 


284  Dumas'  Paris 

his  right  to  a  tavern-keeper,  who  brought  in  wines 
of  excellent  quality.  Then,  with  a  tenth  part  of  this 
duty,  he  purchased  the  vinegar  with  which  he  sup- 
plied his  prisoners." 

The  rest  of  Dumas*  treatment  of  the  fall  of  the 
Bastille  is  of  the  historical  kind.  He  does  not 
blame  De  Launay  for  the  fall,  but  by  no  means 
does  he  make  a  hero  of  him. 

"  A  flash  of  fire,  lost  in  a  cloud  of  smoke,  crowned 
the  summit  of  a  tower;  a  detonation  resounded; 
cries  of  pain  were  heard  issuing  from  the  closely 
pressed  crowd ;  the  first  cannon-shot  had  been  fired 
from  the  Bastille;  the  first  blood  had  been  spilled. 
The  battle  had  commenced.  .  .  . 

"  On  hearing  the  detonation  we  have  spoken  of, 
the  two  soldiers  who  were  still  watching  M.  de 
Launay  threw  themselves  upon  him ;  a  third  snatched 
up  the  match,  and  then  extinguished  it  by  placing 
his  heel  upon  it. 

"  De  Launay  drew  the  sword  which  was  con- 
cealed in  his  cane,  and  would  have  turned  it  against 
his  own  breast,  but  the  soldiers  seized  it  and  snapped 
it  in  two. 

"  He  then  felt  that  all  he  could  do  was  to  resign 
himself  to  the  result ;  he  therefore  tranquilly  awaited 
it. 

"The  people  rush  forward;    the  garrison  open 


Ube  ^Bastille  285 

their  arms  to  them;  and  the  Bastille  is  taken  by 
assault  —  by  main  force,  without  a  capitulation. 

"  The  reason  for  this  was  that,  for  more  than  a 
hundred  years,  the  royal  fortress  had  not  merely 
imprisoned  inert  matter  within  its  walls  —  it  had 
imprisoned  thought  also.  Thought  had  thrown 
down  the  walls  of  the  Bastille,  and  the  people  en- 
tered by  the  breach." 

The  life-history  of  the  Bastille  was  more  ex- 
tended than  was  commonly  recalled.  Still  the  great 
incident  in  its  life  covered  but  fifteen  short  days,  — 
from  the  30th  June  to  the  14th  July,  1789, — 
when  it  fell  before  the  attack  of  the  Revolutionists. 
There  is  rather  vague  markings  in  the  pavement 
on  the  Boulevard  Henri  Quatre  and  the  Rue  St. 
Antoine,  which  suggest  the  former  limits  of  this 
gruesome  building. 

It  were  not  possible  to  catalogue  all  the  scenes 
of  action  celebrated  or  perpetuated  by  Alexandre 
Dumas. 

In  his  "  Crimes  Celebres "  he  —  with  great 
definiteness  —  pictures  dark  scenes  which  are  known 
to  all  readers  of  history;  from  that  terrible  affair 
of  the  Cenci,  which  took  place  on  the  terrace  of  the 
Chateau  de  Rocca  Petrella,  in  1598,  to  the  assassi- 
nation of  Kotzebue  by  Karl  Ludwig  Sand  in  18 19. 


286  2)uma6'  Paris 

Not  all  of  these  crimes  deal  with  Paris,  nor  with 
France. 

The  most  notable  was  the  poisoning  affair  of  the 
Marquise  de  BrinvilHers  (1676),  who  was  forced 
to  make  the  "  amende  honorable  "  after  the  usual 
manner,  on  the  Parvis  du  Notre  Dame,  that  little 
tree-covered  place  just  before  the  west  facade  of  the 
cathedral. 

The  Chevalier  Gaudin  de  Ste.  Croix,  captain  of 
the  Regiment  de  Tracy,  had  been  arrested  in  the 
name  of  the  king,  by  process  of  the  ''  lettre  de 
cachet/'  and  forthwith  incarcerated  in  the  Bastille, 
which  is  once  more  made  use  of  by  Dumas,  though 
in  this  case,  as  in  many  others,  it  is  historic  fact 
as  well.  The  story,  which  is  more  or  less  one  of 
conjugal  and  filial  immorality,  as  well  as  political 
intrigue,  shifts  its  scene  once  and  again  to  the  Cul- 
de-sac  des  Marchands  des  Chevaux,  in  the  Place 
Maubert,  to  the  Foret  de  I'Aigue  —  within  four 
leagues  of  Compiegne,  the  Place  du  Chatelet,  the 
Conciergerie,  and  the  Bastille. 

Here,  too,  Dumas*  account  of  the  "  question  by 
water,"  or,  rather,  the  notes  on  the  subject,  which 
accompanied  the  first  (1839)  edition  of  "  Les 
Crimes  Celebres,"  form  interesting,  if  rather  hor- 
rible, reading. 


Zbc  Bastille  287 

Not  alone  in  the  Bastille  was  this  horrible  torture 
practised,  but  in  most  of  the  prisons  of  the  time. 

''  Pour  la  '  question  ordinaire,  quatre  coquema/rs 
pleins  d'eau,  et  contenant  chacun  deux  pintes  et 
demi,  et  pour  '  la  question  extraordinaire '  huit  de 
meme  grandeur." 

This  was  poured  into  the  victim  through  a  funnel, 
which  entered  the  mouth,  and  sooner  or  later 
drowned  or  stifled  him  or  her,  or  induced  con- 
fession. 

The  final  act  and  end  of  the  unnatural  Marquise 
de  Brinvilliers  took  place  at  the  Place  de  la  Greve, 
which  before  and  since  was  the  truly  celebrated 
place  of  many  noted  crimes,  though  in  this  case 
it  was  justice  that  was  meted  out. 

As  a  sort  of  sequel  to  "  The  Conspirators," 
Dumas  adds  "  A  Postscriptum,"  wherein  is  re- 
counted the  arrest  of  Richelieu,  as  foreordained 
by  Mile,  de  Valois.  He  was  incarcerated  in  the 
Bastille;  but  his  captivity  was  but  a  new  triumph 
for  the  crafty  churchman. 

"  It  was  reported  that  the  handsome  prisoner  had 
obtained  permission  to  walk  on  the  terrace  of  the 
Bastille.  The  Rue  St.  Antoine  was  filled  with  most 
elegant  carriages,  and  became,  in  twenty- four  hours, 
the  fashionable  promenade.  The  regent  —  who  de- 
clared that  he  had  proofs  of  the  treason  of  M.  de 


288  Dumas'  parts 

Richelieu,  sufficient  to  lose  him  four  heads  if  he 
had  them  —  would  not,  however,  risk  his  popularity 
with  the  fair  sex  by  keeping  him  long  in  prison. 
Richelieu,  again  at  liberty,  after  a  captivity  of  three 
months,  was  more  brilliant  and  more  sought  after 
than  ever;  but  the  closet  had  been  walled  up,  and 
Mile,  de  Valois  became  Duchesse  de  Modena." 

Not  only  in  the  "  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne  "  and 
"  The  Taking  of  the  Bastille  "  does  Dumas  make 
mention  of  *'  The  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask,"  but,  to 
still  greater  length,  in  the  supplementary  volume, 
called  in  the  English  translations  *'  The  Man  in  the 
Iron  Mask,"  though  why  it  is  difficult  to  see,  since 
it  is  but  the  second  volume  of  "  The  Vicomte  de 
Bragelonne." 

This  historical  mystery  has  provided  penmen 
of  all  calibres  with  an  everlasting  motive  for  argu- 
mentative conjecture,  but  Dumas  without  hesitancy 
comes  out  strongly  for  "a  prince  of  the  royal 
blood,"  probably  the  brother  of  Louis  XIV. 

It  has  been  said  that  Voltaire  invented  "  the  Man 
in  the  Iron  Mask." 

There  was  nothing  singular  —  for  the  France  of 
that  day  —  in  the  man  himself,  his  offence,  or  his 
punishment;  but  the  mask  and  the  mystery  — 
chiefly  of  Voltaire's  creation  —  fascinated  the  public, 
as  the  veil  of  Mokanna  fascinated  his  worshippers. 


Ube  J5a0tiUe  289 

Here  are  some  of  the  Voltairean  myths  about  this 
mysterious  prisoner:  One  day  he  wrote  something 
with  his  knife  on  a  silver  plate  and  threw  it  down 
to  a  fisherman,  who  took  it  to  the  governor  of  the 
prison.  "  Have  you  read  it?  "  asked  the  governor, 
sternly.  "  I  cannot  read,"  replied  the  fisherman. 
"  That  has  saved  your  life,"  rejoined  the  governor. 
Another  day  a  young  lad  found  beneath  the  prison 
tower  a  shirt  written  closely  all  over.  He  took  it 
to  the  governor,  who  asked,  anxiously.  "  Have  you 
read  it?"  The  boy  again  and  again  assured  him 
that  he  had  not.  Nevertheless,  two  days  later  the 
boy  was  found  dead  in  his  bed.  When  the  Iron 
Mask  went  to  mass  he  was  forbidden  to  speak  or 
unmask  himself  on  pain  of  being  then  and  there 
shot  down  by  the  invalids,  who  stood  by  with 
loaded  carbines  to  carry  out  the  threat.  Here  are 
some  of  the  personages  the  Iron  Mask  was  supposed 
to  be :  An  illegitimate  son  of  Anne  of  Austria ;  a 
twin  brother  of  Louis  XIV.,  put  out  of  the  way  by 
Cardinal  Richelieu  to  avoid  the  risk  of  a  disputed 
succession;  the  Count  of  Vermandois,  an  illegiti- 
mate son  of  Louis  XIV. ;  Fouquet,  Louis*  minister ; 
the  Duke  of  Beaufort,  a  hero  of  the  Fronde;  the 
Duke  of  Monmouth,  the  English  pretender;  Ave- 
dick,  the  Armenian  patriarch;    and  of  late  it  has 


290  2)uma0'  Paris 

almost  come  to  be  accepted  that  he  was  Mattioli,  a 
Piedmontese  poHtical  prisoner,  who  died  in  1703. 

Dumas,  at  any  rate,  took  the  plausible  and  ac- 
ceptable popular  solution ;  and  it  certainly  furnished 
him  with  a  highly  fascinating  theme  for  a  romance, 
which,  however,  never  apparently  achieved  any 
great  popularity. 

"  The  clock  was  striking  seven  as  Aramis  passed 
before  the  Rue  du  Petit  Muse  and  stopped  at  the 
Rue  Tourelles,  at  the  gateway  of  the  Bastille.  .  .  . 

"  Of  the  governor  of  the  prison  Aramis  —  now 
Bishop  of  Vannes  —  asked,  *  How  many  prisoners 
have  you  ?  Sixty  ?  '  .  .  . 

"  *  For  a  prince  of  the  blood  I  have  fifty  francs 
a  day,  .  .  .  thirty-six  for  a  marechal  de  France, 
lieutenant-generals  and  brigadiers  pay  twenty-six 
francs,  and  councillors  of  parliament  fifteen,  but 
for  an  ordinary  judge,  or  an  ecclesiastic,  I  receive 
only  ten  francs.'  " 

Here  Dumas'  knowledge  and  love  of  good  eating 
again  crops  out.  Continuing  the  dialogue  between 
the  bishop  and  the  governor,  he  says: 

"  *  A  tolerably  sized  fowl  costs  a  franc  and  a 
half,  and  a  good-sized  fish  four  or  five  francs. 
Three  meals  a  day  are  served,  and,  as  the  prisoners 
have  nothing  to  do,  they  are  always  eating.     A 


Ube  IBaatille  291 

prisoner  from  whom  I  get  ten  francs  costs  me 
seven  francs  and  a  half/ 

" '  Have  you  no  prisoners,  then,  at  less  than  ten 
francs  ?  '  queried  Aramis. 

" '  Oh,  yes,'  said  the  governor,  '  citizens  and 
lawyers/ 

"  '  But  do  they  not  eat,  too?  .  .  .  Do  not  the 
prisoners  leave  some  scraps  ? '  continued  Aramis. 

"  *  Yes,  and  I  delight  the  heart  of  some  poor  little 
tradesman  or  clerk  by  sending  him  a  wing  of  a 
red  partridge,  a  slice  of  venison,  or  a  slice  of  a 
truffled  pasty,  dishes  which  he  never  tasted  except 
in  his  dreams  (these  are  the  leavings  of  the  twenty- 
four- franc  prisoners) ;  and  he  eats  and  drinks, 
and  at  dessert  cries,  "  Long  live  the  king ! "  and 
blesses  the  Bastille.  With  a  couple  of  bottles  of 
champagne,  which  cost  me  five  sous,  I  make  him 
tipsy  every  Sunday.  That  class  of  people  call  down 
blessings  upon  me,  and  are  sorry  to  leave  the  prison. 
Do  you  know  that  I  have  remarked,  and  it  does 
me  infinite  honour,  that  certain  prisoners,  who  have 
been  set  at  liberty,  have  almost  immediately  after- 
ward got  imprisoned  again?  Why  should  this  be 
the  case,  unless  it  be  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  my 
kitchen  ?  It  is  really  the  fact.'  Aramis  smiled  with 
an  expression  of  incredulity." 

A  visit  to  the  prisoners  themselves  follows,  but 


292  Dumas'  parts 

the  reader  of  these  hnes  is  referred  to  "  Le  Vicomtc 
de  Bragelonne  "  for  further  details. 

The  following  few  lines  must  suffice  here: 

"  The  number  of  bolts,  gratings,  and  locks  for 
the  courtyard  would  have  sufficed  for  the  safety 
of  an  entire  city.  Aramis  was  neither  an  imagi- 
native nor  a  sensitive  man;  he  had  been  somewhat 
of  a  poet  in  his  youth,  but  his  heart  was  hard  and 
indifferent,  as  the  heart  of  every  man  of  fifty-five 
years  of  age  is,  who  has  been  frequently  and  passion- 
ately attached  to  women  in  his  lifetime,  or  rather 
who  has  been  passionately  loved  by  them.  But  when 
he  placed  his  foot  upon  the  worn  stone  steps,  along 
which  so  many  unhappy  wretches  had  passed,  when 
he  felt  himself  impregnated,  as  it  were,  with  the 
atmosphere  of  those  gloomy  dungeons,  moistened 
with  tears,  there  could  be  but  little  doubt  he  was 
overcome  by  his  feelings,  for  his  head  was  bowed 
and  his  eyes  became  dim,  as  he  followed  Baise- 
meaux,  the  governor,  without  uttering  a  syllable." 

Dumas  gives  a  further  description,  of  similar 
import,  in  "  The  Regent's  Daughter :  " 

"And  now,  with  the  reader's  permission,  we 
will  enter  the  Bastille  —  that  formidable  building 
at  which  even  the  passing  traveller  trembled,  and 
which,  to  the  whole  neighbourhood,  was  an  annoy- 
ance and  cause  of  alarm;    for  often  at  night  the 


TTbc  Bastille  293 

cries  of  the  unfortunate  prisoners  who  were  under 
torture  might  be  heard  piercing  the  thick  walls,  so 
much  so,  that  the  Duchesse  de  Lesdequieres  once 
wrote  to  the  governor,  that,  if  he  did  not  prevent 
his  patients  from  making  such  a  noise,  she  should 
complain  to  the  king. 

"  At  this  time,  however,  under  the  reign  of 
Philippe  d'Orleans,  there  were  no  cries  to  be  heard ; 
the  society  was  select,  and  too  well  bred  to  disturb 
the  repose  of  a  lady. 

"  In  a  room  in  the  Du  Coin  tower,  on  the  first 
floor,  was  a  prisoner  alone.  .  .  .  He  had,  however, 
been  but  one  day  in  the  Bastille,  and  yet  already 
he  paced  his  vast  chamber,  examining  the  iron- 
barred  doors,  looking  through  the  grated  windows, 
listening,  sighing,  waiting.  .  .  . 

"  A  noise  of  bolts  and  creaking  hinges  drew  the 
prisoner  from  this  sad  occupation,  and  he  saw  the 
man  enter  before  whom  he  had  been  taken  the 
day  before.  This  man,  about  thirty  years  of  age, 
with  an  agreeable  appearance  and  polite  bearing, 
was  the  governor,  M.  De  Launay,  father  of  that 
De  Launay  who  died  at  his  post  in  '89.  .  .  . 

"  *  M.  de  Chanlay,'  said  the  governor,  bowing,  *  I 
come  to  know  if  you  have  passed  a  good  night,  and 
are  satisfied  with  the  fare  of  the  house  and  the 


294  Dumas'  IParis 

conduct  of  the  employes  *  —  thus  M.  De  Launay,  in 
his  poHteness,  called  the  turnkeys  and  jailors. 

"  *  Yes,  monsieur;  and  these  attentions  paid  to 
a  prisoner  have  surprised  me,  I  own/ 

"  *  The  bed  is  hard  and  old,  but  yet  it  is  one  of 
the  best;  luxury  being  forbidden  by  our  rules. 
Your  room,  monsieur,  is  the  best  in  the  Bastille; 
it  has  been  occupied  by  the  Due  d'Angouleme,  by 
the  Marquis  de  Bassompierre,  and  by  the  Marshals 
de  Luxembourg  and  Biron;  it  is  here  that  I  lodge 
the  princes  when  his  Majesty  does  me  the  honour 
to  send  them  to  me.' 

"  *  It  is  an  excellent  lodging,'  said  Gaston,  smil- 
ing, *  though  ill  furnished ;  can  I  have  some  books, 
some  paper,  and  pens  ?  ' 

"  *  Books,  monsieur,  are  strictly  forbidden ;  but 
if  you  very  much  wish  to  read,  as  many  things  are 
allowed  to  a  prisoner  who  is  enniiye,  come  and 
see  me,  then  you  can  put  in  your  pocket  one  of  those 
volumes  which  my  wife  or  I  leave  about ;  you  will 
hide  it  from  all  eyes ;  on  a  second  visit  you  will  take 
the  second  volume,  and  to  this  abstraction  we  will 
close  our  eyes.' 

"  '  And  paper,  pens,  ink  ? '  said  Gaston.  *  I  wisH 
most  particularly  to  write.' 

"  *  No  one  writes  here,  monsieur;  or,  at  least, 
only  to  the  king,  the  regent,  the  minister,  or  to  me ; 


Ube  JSasttlle  295 

but  they  draw,  and  I  can  let  you  have  drawing- 
paper  and  pencils.'  " 

All  of  the  above  is  the  authenticated  fact  of  his- 
tory, as  written  records  prove,  but  it  is  much  better 
told  by  Dumas,  the  novelist,  than  by  most  his- 
torians. 

Still  other  evidence  of  the  good  things  set  before 
the  guests  at  the  "  Hotel  de  la  Bastille  "  is  shown 
by  the  following.  If  Dumas  drew  the  facts  from 
historical  records,  all  well  and  good;  if  they  were 
menus  composed  by  himself,  —  though  unconven- 
tional ones,  as  all  bon  vivants  will  know,  —  why, 
still  all  is  well. 

"  '  A  fifteen-franc  boarder  does  not  suffer,  my 
lord,'  said  De  Baisemeaux.  — '  He  suffers  imprison- 
ment, at  all  events.'  —  *  No  doubt,  but  his  suffering 
is  sweetened  for  him.  You  must  admit  this  young 
fellow  was  not  bom  to  eat  such  things  as  he  now 
has  before  him.  A  pasty;  crayfish  from  the  river 
Marne  —  almost  as  big  as  lobsters ;  and  a  bottle  of 
Volnay.'  " 

The  potency  of  the  Bastille  as  a  preventative,  or, 
rather,  a  fit  punishment  for  crime,  has  been  nowhere 
more  effectually  set  forth  than  by  the  letter  which 
Cagliostro  wrote  from  London  (in  the  "  Queen's 
Necklace"). 

In  this  letter,  after  attacking  king,  queen,  car- 


296  2)umaB'  Paris 

dinal,  an'd  even  M.  de  Breteuil,  Cagliostro  said: 
"  Yes,  I  repeat,  now  free  after  my  imprisonment, 
there  is  no  crime  that  would  not  be  expiated  by- 
six  months  in  the  Bastille.  They  ask  me  if  I  shall 
ever  return  to  France.  Yes,  I  reply,  when  the 
Bastille  becomes  a  public  promenade.  You  have 
all  that  is  necessary  to  happiness,  you  Frenchmen; 
a  fertile  soil  and"  genial  climate,  good  hearts,  gay 
tempers,  genius,  and  grace.  You  only  want,  my 
friends,  one  little  thing  —  to  feel  sure  of  sleeping 
quietly  in  your  beds  when  you  are  innocent." 

To-day  "  The  Bastille,"  as  it  is  commonly  known 
and  referred  to,  meaning  the  Place  de  la  Bastille, 
has  become  a  public  promenade,  and  its  bygone 
terrors  are  but  a  memory. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

THE   ROYAL   PARKS   AND   PALACES 

£^INCE  the  romances  of  Dumas  deal  so 
i\  largely  with  Paris,  it  is  but  natural  that 
much  of  their  action  should  take  place 
at  the  near-by  country  residences  of  the  royalty 
and  nobility  who  form  the  casts  of  these  great 
series  of  historical  tales. 

To-day  Fontainebleau,  St.  Germain,  Versailles, 
and  even  Chantilly,  Compiegne,  and  Rambouillet 
are  but  mere  attractions  for  the  tourist  of  the  butter- 
fly order.  The  real  Parisian  never  visits  them  or 
their  precincts,  save  as  he  rushes  through  their  tree- 
lined  avenues  in  an  automobile;  and  thus  they  have 
all  come  to  be  regarded  merely  as  monuments  of 
splendid  scenes,  which  have  been  played,  and  on 
which  the  curtain  has  been  rung  down. 

This  is  by  no  means  the  real  case,  and  one  has 

only  to  read  Dumas,  and  do  the  round  of  the  parks 

and  chateaux  which  environ  Paris,  to  revivify  many 

of  the  scenes  of  which  he  writes. 

297 


298  Dumas'  parts 

Versailles  is  the  most  popular,  Fontainebleau  the 
most  grand,  St.  Germain  the  most  theatrical,  Ram- 
bouillet  the  most  rural-like,  and  Compiegne  and 
Chantilly  the  most  delicate  and  dainty. 

Still  nearer  to  Paris,  and  more  under  the  in- 
fluence of  town  life,  were  the  chateaux  of  Madrid 
in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  and  of  Vincennes,  at  the 
other  extremity  of  the  city. 

All  these  are  quite  in  a  class  by  themselves; 
though,  of  course,  in  a  way,  they  performed  the 
same  functions  when  royalty  was  in  residence,  as  the 
urban  palaces. 

Dumas'  final  appreciation  of  the  charms  of  Fon- 
tainebleau does  not  come  till  one  reaches  the  last 
pages  of  "  Le  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne."  True,  it 
was  not  until  the  period  of  which  this  romance 
deals  with  Fontainebleau,  its  chateau,  its  foret,  and 
its  fetes,  actually  came  to  that  prominence  which 
to  this  day  has  never  left  them. 

When  the  king  required  to  give  his  fete  at  Fon- 
tainebleau, as  we  learn  from  Dumas,  and  history, 
too,  he  required  of  Fouquet  four  millions  of  francs, 
"  in  order  to  keep  an  open  house  for  fifteen  days," 
said  he.  How  he  got  them,  and  with  what  result, 
is  best  read  in  the  pages  of  the  romance. 

"  Life  at  the  Palais  Royal  having  become  some- 
what tame,  the  king  had  directed  that  Fontaine- 


Ube  IRo^al  parks  anb  palaces       299 

bleau  should  be  prepared  for  the  reception  of  the 
court."  Here,  then,  took  place  the  fetes  which 
were  predicted,  and  Dumas,  with  his  usual  direct- 
ness and  brilliance,  has  given  us  a  marvellous  de- 
scription of  the  gaiety  of  court  life,  surrounded  by 
the  noble  forest,  over  which  artists  and  sentimental- 
ists have  ever  rhapsodized. 

Continuing,  from  the  pages  of  Dumas  which  im- 
mediately follow,  one  reads: 

"  For  four  days,  every  kind  of  enchantment 
brought  together  in  the  magnificent  gardens  of 
Fontainebleau,  had  converted  this  spot  into  a  place 
of  the  most  perfect  enjoyment.  M.  Colbert  seemed 
gifted  with  ubiquity.  In  the  morning,  there  were 
the  accounts  of  the  previous  night's  expenses  to 
settle;  during  the  day,  programmes,  essays,  en- 
listments, pa3mients.  M.  Colbert  had  amassed  four 
millions  of  francs,  and  dispersed  them  with  a  pru- 
dent economy.  He  was  horrified  at  the  expenses 
which  m)rthology  involved;  every  wood-nymph, 
every  dryad,  did  not  cost  less  than  a  hundred  francs 
a  day.  The  dresses  alone  amounted  to  three  hun- 
dred francs.  The  expense  of  powder  and  sulphur 
for  fireworks  amounted,  every  night,  to  a  hundred 
thousand  francs.  In  addition  to  these,  the  illumi- 
nations on  the  borders  of  the  sheet  of  water  cost 
thirty  thousand  francs  every  evening.     The  fetes 


300  2)uma0'  pati5 

had  been  magnificent;  and  Colbert  could  not  re- 
strain his  delight.  From  time  to  time  he  noticed 
Madame  and  the  king  setting  forth  on  Hunting 
expeditions,  or  preparing  for  the  reception  of  dif- 
ferent fantastic  personages,  solemn  ceremonials, 
which  had  been  extemporized  a  fortnight  before, 
and  in  which  Madame's  sparkling  wit  and  the  king's 
magnificence  were  equally  displayed." 

The  **  Inn  of  the  Beautiful  Peacock,"  celebrated 
by  Dumas  in  "  Le  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne,"  is  not 
directly  traceable  to-day  in  the  many  neighbouring 
hostelries  of  Fontainebleau.  Just  what  Dumas  had 
in  mind  is  vague,  though  his  description  might 
apply  to  any  house  for  travellers,  wherever  it  may 
have  been  situated  in  this  beautiful  wildwood. 

It  was  to  this  inn  of  the  "  Beau  Paon "  that 
Aramis  repaired,  after  he  had  left  Fouquet  and  had 
donned  the  costume  of  the  cavalier  once  more. 
"  Where,"  said  Dumas,  "  he  (Aramis)  had,  by  let- 
ters previously  sent,  directed  an  apartment  or  a 
room  to  be  retained  for  him.  He  chose  the  room, 
which  was  on  the  first  floor,  whereas  the  apart- 
ment was  on  the  second." 

The  description  of  the  establishment  given  by 
Dumas  is  as  follows: 

"  In  the  first  place,  let  us  supply  our  readers 
with  a  few  details  about  the  inn  called  the  Beau 


tCbe  IRo^al  parfts  anb  palaces      301 

Paon.  It  owed  its  name  to  its  sign,  which  repre- 
sented a  peacock  spreading  out  its  tail.  But,  in 
imitation  of  some  painters  who  had  bestowed  the 
face  of  a  handsome  young  man  upon  the  serpent 
which  tempted  Eve,  the  painter  of  this  sign  had 
conferred  upon  the  peacock  the  features  of  a  woman. 
This  inn,  a  Hving  epigram  against  that  half  of  the 
human  race  which  renders  existence  delightful,  was 
situated  at  Fontainebleau,  in  the  first  turning  on  the 
left-hand  side,  which  divides  on  the  road  from 
Paris,  that  large  artery  which  constitutes  in  itself 
along  the  entire  town  of  Fontainebleau.  The  side 
street  in  question  was  then  known  as  the  Rue  de 
Lyon,  doubtless  because  geographically  it  advanced 
in  the  direction  of  the  second  capital  of  the  king- 
dom." 

Lyons  itself  is  treated  by  Dumas  at  some  length 
in  "  Chicot  the  Jester,"  particularly  with  reference 
to  Chicot's  interception  of  the  Pope's  messenger, 
who  brought  the  documents  which  were  to  estab- 
lish the  Due  de  Guise's  priority  as  to  rights  to  the 
throne  of  France. 

"  The  inn  of  the  Beau  Paon  had  its  principal 
front  toward  the  main  street;  but  upon  the  Rue 
de  Lyon  there  were  two  ranges  of  buildings,  divided 
by  courtyards,  which  comprised  sets  of  apartments 
for  the  reception  of  all  classes  of  travellers,  whether 


302  2)ttma6*  pads 

on  foot  or  on  horseback,  or  even  with  their  own 
carriages,  and  in  which  could  be  suppHed,  not  only 
board  and  lodging,  but  also  accommodation  for 
exercise  or  opportunities  of  solitude  for  even  the 
wealthiest  courtiers,  whenever,  after  having  re- 
ceived some  check  at  the  court,  they  wished  to  shut 
themselves  up  with  their  own  society,  either  to 
devour  an  affront  or  to  brood  over  their  revenge. 
From  the  windows  of  this  part  of  the  building 
the  travellers  could  perceive,  in  the  first  place,  the 
street  with  the  grass  growing  between  the  stones, 
which  were  being  gradually  loosened  by  it;  next, 
the  beautiful  hedges  of  elder  and  thorn,  which  em- 
braced, as  though  within  two  green  and  flowering 
arms,  the  houses  of  which  we  have  spoken;  and 
then,  in  the  spaces  between  those  houses,  forming 
the  groundwork  of  the  picture,  and  appearing  like 
an  almost  impassable  barrier,  a  line  of  thick  trees, 
the  advanced  sentinels  of  the  vast  forest,  which 
extends  itself  in  front  of  Fontainebleau." 

On  the  road  to  Versailles,  where  the  Seine  is 
crossed  by  the  not  beautiful  Pont  de  Sevres,  is  the 
little  inn  of  the  Bridge  of  Sevres,  in  which  the 
story  of  "La  Comtesse  de  Chamy"  opens,  and, 
indeed,  in  which  all  its  early  action  takes  place. 
The  inn,  or  even  its  direct  descendant,  is  not  dis- 
cernible to-day.  The  Pont  de  Sevres  is  there,  linking 


Ubc  IRo^al  lParft0  ant)  ipalaces      303 

one  of  those  thumblike  peninsulas  made  by  the 
windings  of  the  Seine  with  the  Bois  de  Meudon, 
and  the  traffic  inward  and  outward  from  Paris  is  as 
great  and  varied  as  it  always  was,  probably  greater, 
but  there  is  no  inn  to  suggest  that  which  Dumas 
had  in  mind.  The  rural  aspect  is  somewhat  changed, 
the  towering  stacks  of  the  china-factory  chimneys, 
the  still  more  towering  —  though  distant  —  Tour 
Eiffel,  which  fortunately  is  soon  to  be  razed,  and 
the  iron  rails  of  the  "Ceinture"  and  the  "Quest,''  all 
tend  to  estrange  one's  sentiments  from  true  romance. 

Farther  on  to  the  westward  lies  Versailles,  with 
its  theatrical,  though  splendid,  palais  and  pare,  the 
Trianons  and  Les  Grandes  Eaux,  beloved  by  the 
tourist  and  the  Parisian  alike. 

Still  farther  to  the  northward  by  the  same  road 
is  the  pretty  town  of  St.  Germain-en-Laye,  with  the 
remains  of  its  Chateau  Neuf,  once  the  most  splendid 
and  gorgeous  country  residence  of  Henri  II.  and 
Henri  IV.,  continuing,  also,  in  the  favour  of  the 
court  until  the  birth  here  of  Louis  XIV.  James  II. 
of  England  made  his  residence  here  after  his  exile. 

Dumas'  references  to  St.  Germain  are  largely 
found  in  "  Vingt  Ans  Apres." 

It  was  near  St.  Germain,  too,  that  Dumas  set 
about  erecting  his  famous  "  Chatelet  du  Monte 
Cristo,"    In  fact,  he  did  erect  it,  on  his  usual  ex- 


304  2)ttma6'  parts 

travagant  ideas,  but  his  tenure  there  was  short-lived, 
and,  altogether,  it  was  not  a  creditable  undertaking, 
as  after-events  proved. 

The  gaiety  of  the  life  at  St.  Germain  departed 
suddenly,  but  it  is  said  of  Dumas'  life  there,  that 
he  surrounded  himself  with  a  coterie  which  bespoke 
somewhat  its  former  abandon  and  luxuriance.  It 
was  somewhat  of  a  Bohemian  life  that  he  lived 
there,  no  doubt,  but  it  was  not  of  the  sordid  or 
humble  kind;  it  was  most  gorgeous  and  extrava- 
gant. 

Of  all  the  royal  parks  and  palaces  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Paris,  Versailles  has  the  most  popu- 
larly sentimental  interest.  A  whim  of  Louis  XIV., 
it  was  called  by  Voltaire  "  an  abyss  of  expense," 
and  so  it  truly  was,  as  all  familiar  with  its  history 
know. 

In  the  later  volumes  of  Dumas'  "  La  Comtesse  de 
Charnay,"  "The  Queen's  Necklace,"  and  "The 
Taking  of  the  Bastille,"  frequent  mention  is  made 
but  he  does  not  write  of  it  with  the  same  affec- 
tion that  he  does  of  Fontainebleau  or  St.  Germain. 
The  details  which  Dumas  presents  in  "  The  Taking 
of  the  Bastille  "  shows  this  full  well. 

"  At  half-past  ten,  in  ordinary  times,  every  one  in 
Versailles  would  have  been  in  bed  and  wrapped  in 
the  prof oundest  slumber ;  but  that  night  no  eye  was 


Ubc  IRo^al  parfts  ant)  palaces      305 

closed  at  Versailles.  They  had  felt  the  counter- 
shock  of  the  terrible  concussion  with  which  Paris 
was  still  trembling. 

"  The  French  Guards,  the  body-guards,  the  Swiss 
drawn  up  in  platoons,  and  grouped  near  the  open- 
ings of  all  the  principal  streets,  were  conversing 
among  themselves,  or  with  those  of  the  citizens 
whose  fidelity  to  the  monarchy  inspired  them  with 
confidence. 

**  For  Versailles  has,  at  all  times,  been  a  royalist 
city.  Religious  respect  for  the  monarchy,  if  not  for 
the  monarch,  is  engrafted  in  the  hearts  of  its  inhab- 
itants, as  if  it  were  a  quality  of  its  soil.  Having 
always  lived  near  kings,  and  fostered  by  their 
bounty,  beneath  the  shade  of  their  wonders  —  hav- 
ing always  inhaled  the  intoxicating  perfume  of  the 
Heurs-de-lis,  and  seen  the  brilliant  gold  of  their 
garments,  and  the  smiles  upon  their  august  lips,  the 
inhabitants  of  Versailles,  for  whom  kings  have  built 
a  city  of  marble  and  porphyry,  feel  almost  kings 
themselves ;  and  even  at  the  present  day,  even  now, 
when  moss  is  growing  around  the  marble,  and  grass 
is  springing  up  between  the  slabs  of  the  pavement, 
now  that  gold  has  almost  disappeared  from  the 
wainscoting,  and  that  the  shady  walks  of  the  parks 
are  more  solitary  than  a  graveyard,  Versailles  must 
either  belie  its  origin,  or  must  consider  itself  as  a 


3o6  2)umas'  pads 

fragment  of  the  fallen  monarchy,  and  no  longer 
feeling  the  pride  of  power  and  wealth,  must  at  least 
retain  the  poetical  associations  of  regret,  and  the 
sovereign  charms  of  melancholy.  Thus,  as  we  have 
already  stated,  all  Versailles,  in  the  night  between 
the  14th  and  15th  July,  1789,  was  confusedly  agi- 
tated, anxious  to  ascertain  how  the  King  of  France 
would  reply  to  the  insult  offered  to  the  throne,  and 
the  deadly  wound  inflicted  on  his  power." 

Versailles  was  one  of  the  latest  of  the  royal 
palaces,  and  since  its  birth,  or  at  least  since  the  days 
of  "  personally  "  and  "  non-conducted  "  tourists,  has 
claimed,  perhaps,  even  more  than  its  share  of  pop- 
ular favour.  Certainly  it  is  a  rare  attraction,  and  its 
past  has  been  in  turn  sad,  gay,  brilliant,  and  gloomy. 
Event  after  event,  some  significant,  others  unim- 
portant, but  none  mean  or  sordid,  have  taken  place 
within  its  walls  or  amid  its  environment.  Dumas 
evidently  did  not  rank  its  beauties  very  high,  — 
and  perhaps  rightly,  —  for  while  it  is  a  gorgeous 
fabric  and  its  surroundings  and  appointments  are 
likewise  gorgeous,  it  palls  unmistakably  by  reason 
of  its  sheer  artificiality.  Dumas  said  much  the 
same  thing  when  he  described  it  as  "  that  world  of 
automata,  of  statues,  and  boxwood  forests,  called 
Versailles." 

Much  of  the  action  of  "  The  Queen's  Necklace  " 


XTbe  IRo^al  iparfts  anb  f>alace5      307 

takes  place  at  Versailles,  and  every  line  relating 
thereto  is  redolent  of  a  first-hand  observation  on 
the  part  of  the  author.  There  is  no  scamping  detail 
here,  nor  is  there  any  excess  of  it. 

With  the  fourth  chapter  of  the  romance,  when 
Madame  de  la  Motte  drove  to  Versailles  in  her 
cabriolet,  "  built  lightly,  open,  and  fashionable,  v^ith 
high  wheels,  and  a  place  behind  for  a  servant  to 
stand,"  begins  the  record  of  the  various  incidents 
of  the  story,  which  either  took  place  at  Versailles 
or  centred  around  it. 

" '  Where  are  we  to  go? '  said  Weber,  who  had 
charge  of  madame's  cabriolet.  —  *  To  Versailles.' 
—  *  By  the  boulevards  ?  '  — '  No.'  ...  *  We  are  at 
Versailles,'  said  the  driver.  *  Where  must  I  stop, 
ladies? '  — '  At  the  Place  d'Armes.'  "  "  At  this  mo- 
ment," says  Dumas,  in  the  romance,  "  our  heroines 
heard  the  clock  strike  from  the  church  of  St.  Louis." 

Dumas'  descriptions  of  Versailles  are  singularly 
complete,  and  without  verboseness.  At  least,  he 
suggests  more  of  the  splendours  of  that  gay  resi- 
dence of  the  court  than  he  actually  defines,  and 
puts  into  the  mouths  of  his  characters  much  that 
others  would  waste  on  mere  descriptive  matter. 

In  the  chapter  headed  Vincennes,  in  "  Marguerite 
de  Valois,"  Dumas  gives  a  most  graphic  descrip- 
tion of  its  one-time  chateau-prison : 


3o8  H)uma5'  Paris 

"  According  to  the  order  given  by  Giarles  IX., 
Henri  was  the  same  evening  conducted  to  Vincennes, 
that  famous  castle  of  which  only  a  fragment  now 
remains,  but  colossal  enough  to  give  an  idea  of  its 
past  grandeur. 

"  At  the  postern  of  the  prison  they  stopped.  M. 
de  Nancey  alighted  from  his  horse,  opened  the  gate 
closed  with  a  padlock,  and  respectfully  invited  the 
king  to  follow  him.  Henri  obeyed  without  a  word 
of  reply.  Every  abode  seemed  to  him  more  safe 
than  the  Louvre,  and  ten  doors,  closing  on  him  at 
the  same  time,  were  between  him  and  Catherine  de 
Medici. 

"  The  royal  prisoner  crossed  the  drawbridge  be- 
tween two  soldiers,  passed  the  three  doors  on  the 
ground  floor  and  the  three  doors  at  the  foot  of 
the  staircase,  and  then,  still  preceded  by  M.  de 
Nancey,  went  up  one  flight  of  stairs.  Arrived  there. 
Captain  de  Nancey  requested  the  king  to  follow 
him  through  a  kind  of  corridor,  at  the  extremity 
of  which  was  a  very  large  and  gloomy  chamber. 

"  Henri  looked  around  him  with  considerable  dis- 
quietude. 

"  *  Where  are  we?  '  he  inquired. 

"  *  In  the  chamber  of  torture,  monseigneur.' 

"  *  Ah,  ah! '  replied  the  king,  looking  at  it  atten- 
tively. 


Zbc  IRo^al  ipatfts  ant>  palaces      309 

"  There  was  something  of  everything  in  this 
apartment:  pitchers  and  trestles  for  the  torture  by- 
water;  wedges  and  mallets  for  the  question  of  the 
boot;  moreover,  there  were  stone  benches  for  tlie 
unhappy  wretches  who  awaited  the  question,  nearly 
all  around  the  chamber ;  and  above  these  seats,  and 
to  the  seats  themselves,  and  at  the  foot  of  these  seats, 
were  iron  rings,  mortised  into  the  walls  with  no 
symmetry  but  that  of  the  torturing  art. 

"  *  Ah,  ah ! '  said  Henri,  '  is  this  the  way  to  my 
apartment  ? ' 

"  *  Yes,  monseigneur,  and  here  it  is,'  said  a  figure 
in  the  dark,  who  approached  and  then  became  dis- 
tinguishable. 

"  Henri  thought  he  recognized  the  voice,  and, 
advancing  toward  the  individual,  said,  *  Ah,  is  it 
you,  Beaulieu?  And  what  the  devil  do  you  do 
here?' 

"  *  Sire,  I  have  been  nominated  governor  of  the 
fortress  of  Vincennes.' 

"  *  Well,  my  dear  sir,  your  debut  does  you  honour; 
a  king  for  a  prisoner  is  no  bad  commencement.' 

"  *  Pardon  me.  Sire,  but  before  I  received  you  I 
had  already  received  two  gentlemen.' 

"'Who  may  they  be?  Ah!  your  pardon;  per- 
haps I  commit  an  indiscretion.' 


3IO  Dumas'  parts 

"  '  Monseigneur,  I  have  not  been  bound  to  secrecy. 
They  are  M.  de  la  Mole  and  M.  de  Coconnas/ 

"  '  Poor  gentlemen !     And  where  are  they  ?  ' 

"  *  High  up,  in  the  fourth  floor/ 

"  Henri  gave  a  sigh.  It  was  there  he  wished 
to  be. 

"  *  Now,  then,  M.  de  Beaulieu,'  said  Henri,  '  have 
the  kindness  to  show  me  my  chamber.  I  am  de- 
sirous of  reaching  it,  as  I  am  very  much  fatigued 
with  my  day's  toil.' 

" '  Here,  monseigneur,'  said  Beaulieu,  showing 
Henri  an  open  door. 

"  '  No.  2 ! '  said  Henri.     *  And  why  not  No.  i  ?  ' 

"  *  Because  it  is  reserved,  monseigneur.' 

"  *  Ah !  that  is  another  thing,'  said  Henri,  and  he 
became  even  more  pensive. 

"  He  wondered  who  was  to  occupy  No.  i. 

"  The  governor,  with  a  thousand  apologies,  in- 
stalled Henri  in  his  apartment,  made  many  excuses 
for  his  deficiencies,  and,  placing  two  soldiers  at  the 
door,  retired. 

"  '  Now,'  said  the  governor,  addressing  the  turn- 
key, *  let  us  visit  the  others.'  " 

The  present  aspect  of  St.  Germain-en-Laye  is 
hardly  what  it  was  in  the  days  of  which  Dumas 
wrote  in  "  Marguerite  de  Valois "  or  in  "  Vingt 


Ube  IRoi^al  iparfts  an&  palaces       311 

Ans  Apres."  Le  Bois  or  Le  Foret  looks  to-day 
in  parts,  at  least  —  much  as  it  did  in  the  days  when 
royalty  hunted  its  domain,  and  the  glorious  facade 
chateau  has  endured  well. 

Beyond  this,  the  romance  and  history  have  well- 
nigh  evaporated  into  air.  The  whole  neighbour- 
hood is  quite  given  over  to  a  holiday,  pleasure- 
making  crowd,  which,  though  it  is  typically  French, 
and  therefore  interesting,  is  little  in  keeping  with 
the  splendid  scenes  of  its  past. 

To-day  peasants  from  Brittany,  heavily  booted 
cavalry  and  artillery,  ouvriers,  children  and  nurse- 
maids, and  touristes  of  all  nationalities  throng  the 
allees  of  the  forest  and  the  corridors  of  the  chateau, 
where  once  royalty  and  its  retainers  held  forth. 

Vesinet,  on  the  road  from  Paris  to  St.  Germain, 
—  just  before  one  reaches  Pecq,  and  the  twentieth- 
century  chemin^de-fer  begins  to  climb  that  long, 
inclined  viaduct,  which  crosses  the  Seine  and  rises 
ultimately  to  the  platform  on  which  sits  the  Vieux 
Chateau,  —  was  a  favourite  hawking-ground  of 
Charles  IX.  Indeed,  it  was  here  that  that  monarch 
was  warned  of  "  a  fresh  calumny  against  his  poor 
Harry"  (Henri  de  Navarre),  as  one  reads  in  the 
pages  of  "  Marguerite  de  Valois." 

A  further  description  follows  of  Charles'  cele- 
brated falcon.  Bee  de  Fer,  which  is  assuredly  one 


312  2)uma0'  Paris 

of  the  most  extraordinary  descriptions  of  a  hunting- 
scene  extant  in  the  written  page  of  romance. 

Much  hunting  took  place  in  all  of  Dumas'  ro- 
mances, and  the  near-by  forests  of  France,  i.  e.,  near 
either  to  Paris  or  to  the  royal  residences  elsewhere, 
were  the  scenes  of  many  gay  meetings,  where  the 
stag,  the  boar,  the  cerf,  and  all  manner  of  footed 
beasts  and  winged  fowl  were  hunted  in  pure  sport; 
though,  after  all,  it  is  not  recorded  that  it  was  as 
brutal  a  variety  as  the  battues  of  the  present  day. 

St.  Germain,  its  chateau  and  its  foret,  enters  once 
and  again,  and  again,  into  both  the  Valois  series 
and  the  Mousquetaire  romances.  Of  all  the 
royal,  suburban  palaces,  none  have  been  more  ad- 
mired and  loved  for  its  splendid  appointments  and 
the  splendid  functions  which  have  taken  place  there, 
than  St.  Germain. 

It  had  early  come  into  favour  as  the  residence 
of  the  French  kings,  the  existing  chapel  being  the 
foundation  of  St.  Louis,  while  the  Chateau  Neuf 
was  built  mainly  by  Henri  II.  To-day  but  a  solitary 
pavilion  —  that  known  as  Henri  IV.  —  remains, 
while  the  Vieux  Chateau,  as  it  was  formerly  known, 
is  to-day  acknowledged  as  the  Chateau. 

The  most  significant  incident  laid  here  by  Dumas, 
is  that  of  the  flight  of  Anne  of  Austria,  Louis  XIV., 
and  the  court,  from  Paris  to  the  Chateau  of  St 


XTbe  IRo^al  patfta  an^  palaces      313 

Germain.  This  plan  was  amplified,  according  to 
Dumas,  and  furthered  by  D'Artagnan  and  Athos; 
and  since  it  is  an  acknowledged  fact  of  history,  this 
points  once  again  to  the  worth  of  the  historical 
romance  from  an  exceedingly  edifying  view-point. 
At  the  time  of  the  flight  Louis  was  but  a  mere  boy, 
and  it  may  be  recalled  here  that  he  was  bom  at 
St.  Germain  in  1638. 

The  architectural  glories  of  St.  Germain  are 
hardly  so  great  as  to  warrant  comparison  with 
Versailles,  to  which  Louis  subsequently  removed 
his  court;  indeed,  the  Chateau  Neuf,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  pavilion  before  mentioned,  is  not 
even  a  dignified  ruin,  being  but  scattered  piles  of 
debris,  which,  since  1776,  when  the  structure  was 
razed,  have  been  left  lying  about  in  most  desultory 
fashion. 

The  Vieux  Chateau  was  made  use  of  by  the  great 
Napoleon  as  a  sort  of  a  barracks,  and  again  as  a 
prison,  but  has  since  been  restored  according  to  the 
original  plans  of  the  architect  Ducercen,  who,  under 
Francois  I.,  was  to  have  carried  it  to  completion. 

Once  St.  Germain  was  the  home  of  royalty  and 
all  the  gaiety  of  the  court  life  of  the  Louis,  and 
once  again  it  was  on  the  eve  of  becoming  the  fash- 
ionable Paris  suburb,  but  now  it  is  the  resort  of 
"  trippers,"  and  its  chateau,  or  what  was  left  of  it 


314  2)ttma5'  parts 

after  the  vandalism  of  the  eighteenth  century,  is 
a  sad  ruin,  though  the  view  from  its  heights  is  as 
lovely  as  ever  —  that  portion  which  remains  being 
but  an  aggravation,  when  one  recalls  the  glories 
that  once  were.  Save  the  Vieux  Chateau,  all  that 
is  left  is  the  lovely  view.  Paris-wards  one  sees 
a  panorama  —  a  veritable  vol-d' oiseaux  —  of  the 
slender,  silvery  loops  of  the  Seine  as  it  bends  around 
Port  Marly,  Argenteuil,  Courbevoie,  St.  Denis,  and 
St.  Cloud ;  while  in  the  dimmest  of  the  dim  distance 
the  Eiffel  Tower  looms  all  its  ugliness  up  into  the 
sky,  and  the  domed  heights  of  Montmartre  and  the 
Buttes  Chaumont  look  really  beautiful  —  which  they 
do  not  on  closer  view. 

The  height  of  St.  Germain  itself  —  the  ville  and 
the  chateau  —  is  not  so  very  great,  and  it  certainly 
is  not  giddy,  which  most  of  its  frequenters,  for  one 
reason  or  another,  are ;  but  its  miserable  pave  is  the 
curse  of  all  automobilists,  and  the  sinuous  road 
which  ascends  from  the  Pont  du  Pecq  is  now 
"  rushed,"  up  and  down,  by  motor-cars,  to  the  joy 
of  the  native,  when  one  gets  stalled,  as  they  fre- 
quently do,  and  to  the  danger  to  life  and  limb  of 
all  other  road-users  and  passers-by. 

In  all  of  the  Valois  cycle,  "  la  chasse  "  plays  an 
important  part  in  the  pleasure  of  the  court  arid  the 


Zbc  IRopal  iParfts  ant)  palace5      sn 

noblesse.  The  forests  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Paris 
are  numerous  and  noted. 

At  Villers-Cotterets,  Dumas'  birthplace,  is  the 
Foret  de  Villers-Cotterets,  a  dependence  of  the 
Valois  establishment  at  Crepy. 

Bondy,  Fontainebleau,  St.  Germain,  Vincennes, 
and  Rambouillet  are  all  mentioned,  and  are  too 
familiar  to  even  casual  travellers  to  warrant  the 
inclusion  of  detailed  description  here. 

Next  to  Fontainebleau,  v^hose  present-day  fame 
rests  v^ith  the  artists  of  the  Barbizon  school,  who 
have  perpetuated  its  rocks  and  trees,  and  St.  Ger- 
main, which  is  mostly  revered  for  the  past  splendour 
of  its  chateau,  Rambouillet  most  frequently  comes 
to  mind. 

Even  Republican  France  has  its  national  hunt 
yearly,  at  Rambouillet,  and  visiting  monarchs  are 
invariably  expected  to  partake  in  the  shooting. 

Rambouillet,  the  hameau  and  the  foret,  was  an- 
ciently under  the  feudal  authority  of  the  Comtes 
de  Montford,  afterward  (1300)  under  Regnault 
d'Augennes,  Capitaine  du  Louvre  under  Charles  VI., 
and  still  later  under  Jacques  d'Augennes,  Capitaine 
du  Chateau  de  Rambouillet  in  1547.  Louis  XVL 
purchased  the  chateau  for  one  of  his  residences,  and 
Napoleon  IIL,  as  well  as  his  more  illustrious  name^ 
sake,  was  specially  fond  of  hunting  in  its  forests. 


3i6  2)uma6'  Paris 

Since  1870  the  chateau  and  the  forest  have  been 
under  the  domination  of  the  state. 

There  is  a  chapter  in  Dumas'  "  The  Regent's 
Daughter,"  entitled  "  A  Room  in  the  Hotel  at  Ram- 
bouillet,"  which  gives  some  little  detail  respecting 
the  town  and  the  forest. 

There  is  no  hotel  in  Rambouillet  to-day  known  as 
the  "  Royal  Tiger,"  though  there  is  a  "  Golden 
Lion." 

"  Ten  minutes  later  the  carriage  stopped  at  the 
Tigre-Royal.  A  woman,  who  was  waiting,  came 
out  hastily,  and  respectfully  assisted  the  ladies  to 
alight,  and  then  guided  them  through  the  passages 
of  the  hotel,  preceded  by  a  valet  carrying  lights. 

"  A  door  opened,  Madame  Desroches  drew  back 
to  allow  Helene  and  Sister  Therese  to  pass  and 
they  soon  found  themselves  on  a  soft  and  easy  sofa, 
in  front  of  a  bright  fire. 

"  The  room  was  large  and  well  furnished,  but 
the  taste  was  severe,  for  the  style  called  rococo  was 
not  yet  introduced.  There  were  four  doors;  the 
first  was  that  by  which  they  had  entered  —  the 
second  led  to  the  dining-room,  which  was  already 
lighted  and  wanned  —  the  third  led  into  a  richly 
appointed  bedroom  —  the  fourth  did  not  open.  .  .  . 

"  While  the  things  which  we  have  related  were 
passing  in  the  parlour  of  the  Hotel  Tigre-Royal,  in 


XCbc  IRo^al  lParft6  an^  palaces      317 

another  apartment  of  the  same  hotel,  seated  near  a 
large  fire,  was  a  man  shaking  the  snow  from  his 
boots,  and  untying  the  strings  of  a  large  portfolio. 
This  man  was  dressed  in  the  hunting  livery  of  the 
house  of  Orleans;  the  coat  red  and  silver,  large 
boots,  and  a  three-cornered  hat,  trimmed  with  silver. 
He  had  a  quick  eye,  a  long,  pointed  nose,  a  round 
and  open  forehead,  which  was  contradicted  by  thin 
and  compressed  lips." 

Compiegne,  like  Crepy-en-Valois,  Dammartin, 
Villers-Cotterets,  and  other  of  the  towns  and  vil- 
lages of  the  district,  which  in  the  fourteenth  century 
belonged  to  the  younger  branch  of  the  royal  house, 
enter  largely  into  the  romances  of  Dumas,  as  was 
but  natural,  seeing  that  this  region  was  the  land 
of  his  birth. 

The  most  elaborate  and  purely  descriptive  parts 
are  found  in  "  The  Wolf  Leader,"  wherein  are  pre- 
sented so  many  pictures  of  the  forest  life  of  the 
region,  and  in  "  The  Taking  of  the  Bastille,"  in 
that  part  which  describes  the  journey  of  Ange 
Pitou  to  Paris. 

Crepy,  Compiegne,  Senlis,  Pierrefonds,  are  still 
more  celebrated  in  Dumas'  writings  for  glorious  and 
splendid  achievements  —  as  they  are  with  respect 
to  the  actual   fact  of  history,   and  the  imposing 


3i8  Dumas'  Paris 

architectural  monuments  which  still  remain  to  illus- 
trate the  conditions  under  which  life  endured  in 
mediaeval  times. 

At  Crepy,  now  a  sleepy  old-world  village,  is  still 
seen  the  establishment  of  the  Valois  of  which  Dumas 
wrote ;  and  another  grande  maison  of  the  Valois  was 
at  Villers-Cotterets  —  a  still  more  somnolent  re- 
minder of  the  past.  At  Compiegne,  only,  with  its 
magnificent  Hotel  de  Ville,  does  one  find  the  ac- 
tivities of  a  modem-day  life  and  energy. 

Here  in  strange  juxtaposition  with  a  remarkably 
interesting  and  picturesque  church,  and  the  dainty 
Renaissance  Hotel  de  Ville,  with  its  jacquemo/rt, 
its  belfry,  its  pointed  gable,  and  its  ornate  fagade, 
is  found  a  blend  of  past  and  present,  which  combines 
to  produce  one  of  those  transformations  or  stage- 
settings  which  throughout  France  are  so  often  met 
with  and  admired. 

No  more  charming  petite  ville  exists  in  all  France 
than  Compiegne,  one  of  the  most  favoured  of  all 
the  country  residences  of  the  Kings  of  France. 

The  chateau  seen  to-day  was  an  erection  of 
Louis  XV. 

Le  Foret  de  Compiegne  is  as  beautiful  and  un- 
spoiled as  any,  and  is,  moreover,  not  overrun  with 
tourists  and  trippers,  as  is  Fontainebleau. 


XTbe  iRoi^al  patftB  an&  palaces      319 

Its  area  approximates  60,000  acres,  and  its  cir- 
cumference sixty  miles. 

In  short,  the  whole  domain  forms  a  charming  and 
delightful  place  of  retreat,  which  must  have  been 
duly  appreciated  during  the  troublous  times  of 
Louis'  reign. 

It  was  here,  in  the  Foret  de  Compiegne,  that  the 
great  hunting  was  held,  which  is  treated  in  "  Chicot 
the  Jester." 

The  Bois  de  Vincennes  was  a  famous  duelling- 
ground —  and  is  to-day,  sub  rosa.  It  was  here 
that  Louis  de  Franchi,  in  the  "  Corsican  Brothers," 
who  forewarned  of  his  fate,  died  in  the  duel  with 
Rene  de  Chateaurien,  just  as  he  had  predicted;  at 
exactly  "  neuf  heures  dix." 

This  park  is  by  no  means  the  rival  of  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne  in  the  affections  of  the  Parisian  public, 
but  it  is  a  wide  expanse  of  tree-covered  park  land, 
and  possesses  all  the  characteristics  of  the  other 
suburban  forets  which  surround  Paris  on  all  sides. 

It  has,  moreover,  a  chateau,  a  former  retreat  or 
country  residence  of  the  Kings  of  France,  though 
to-day  it  has  been  made  over  to  the  ministry  of 
war,  whereas  the  Chateau  de  Madrid,  the  former 
possession  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  has  disappeared. 
The  Chateau  de  Vincennes  is.  not  one  of  the  sights 
of  Paris.     For  a  fact,  it  is  quite  inaccessible,  being 


32 o  Dumas'  Paris 

surrounded  by  the  ramparts  of  the  Fort  de  Vin- 
cennes,  and  therefore  forbidden  to  the  inquisitive. 

It  was  here  in  the  Chateau  de  Vincennes  that 
Charles  IX.  died  a  hngering  death,  "  by  the  poison 
prepared  for  another/'  as  Dumas  has  it  in  "  Mar- 
guerite de  Valois." 

Among  the  many  illustrious  prisoners  of  the 
Chateau  de  Vincennes  have  been  the  King  of  Na- 
varre (1574),  Conde  (1650),  Cardinal  de  Retz 
(1652),  Fouquet  (1661),  Mirabeau  (1777),  the 
Due  d'Enghien  (1804),  and  many  others,  most  of 
whom  have  lived  and  breathed  in  Dumas'  pages,  in 
the  same  parts  which  they  played  in  real  life. 


CHAPTER   XVIL 


THE  FRENCH    PROVINCES 


T^UMAS'  acquaintance  with  the  French  prov- 
K  i  inces  was  very  comprehensive,  though  it 
is  of  the  region  northeast  of  Paris  that 
he  was  most  fond;  of  the  beloved  forest  region 
around  Crepy  and  Villers-Cotterets ;  the  road  to 
Calais,  and  Picardie  and  Flanders.  Dumas  was  ever 
fond  of,  and  familiar  with,  the  road  from  Paris  to 
Calais.  The  National  Route  ran  through  Crepy,  and 
the  byroad  through  his  native  Villers-Cotterets.  In 
the  "  Vicomte-  de  Bragelonne,"  he  calls  the  region 
''The  Land  of  God,"  a  sentiment  which  mostly 
has  not  been  endorsed  by  other  writers;  still,  it 
IS  a  beautiful  country,  and  with  its  thickly  wooded 
plantations,  its  industrious  though  conglomerate 
population,  it  is  to-day  —  save  for  the  Cantal  and 
the  Auvergne  —  that  part  of  France  of  which  Eng- 
lish-speaking folk  know  the  least.  And  this,  too, 
on  the  direct  road  between  London  and  Paris! 

321 


32  2  2)uma6'  Paris 

Dumas,  in  the  above-mentioned  book,  describes 
the  journey  through  this  region  which  was  made 
by  Buckingham  and  De  Wardes. 

"  Arriving  at  Calais,  at  the  end  of  the  sixth  day, 
they  chartered  a  boat  for  the  purpose  of  joining 
the  yacht  that  was  to  convey  them  to  England,  and 
which  was  then  tacking  about  in  full  view." 

The  old  port  of  Calais  must  have  been  made  use 
of  by  the  personages  of  whom  Dumas  wrote,  who 
trafficked  forth  between  England  and  France. 

Calais  has  ever  been  the  most  important  terminus 
of  cross-channel  traffic,  and  there  be  those  who 
know,  who  say  that  the  boat  service  is  not  improved 
in  comfort  in  all  these  ages,  and  certainly  Calais, 
which  most  English  travellers  know  only  by  fleeting 
glimpses,  might  with  profit  be  visited  more  fre- 
quently, if  only  to  follow  in  the  wake  of  Sterne's 
sentimental  footsteps. 

The  old  port,  of  course,  exists  no  more;  new 
dykes,  breakwaters,  and  the  gare  maritime  have 
taken  the  place  of  the  ancient  landing-places,  where 
royalties  and  others  used  to  embark  in  frail  sailing- 
vessels  for  the  English  ports  across  the  channel. 

The  old  belfry  still  exists,  and  forms  a  beacon 
by  day,  at  least,  much  as  it  did  of  yore.  By  night 
the  new  electric-light  flashes  its  beams  twenty  odd 
miles  across  the  channel  on  Dover  Cliff,  in  a  way 


Ubc  jfrcncb  lPtox>tnce6  323 

which  would  have  astonished  our  forefathers  in  the 
days  gone  by. 

It  was  at  Calais,  too,  that  was  enacted  the  final 
scene  in  the  life  of  Mary  Stuart  in  France. 

The  misfortunes  of  Mary  Stuart  formed  the  sub- 
ject of  one  of  the  series  of  "  Les  Crimes  Celebres." 
In  the  opening  words  of  this  chapter,  Dumas  has 
said,  "  Of  all  the  names  predestined  to  misfortune 
in  France,  it  is  the  name  of  Henri.  Henri  I.  was 
poisoned,  Henri  II.  was  killed  (maliciously,  so  some 
one  has  said)  in  a  tournament,  Henri  III.  and 
Henri  IV.  were  assassinated."  In  Scotland  it  is 
the  name  of  Stuart. 

The  chronicle  concerns  France  only  with  respect 
to  the  farewell  of  Mary,  after  having  lost  her 
mother  and  her  spouse  in  the  same  year  (1561). 
She  journeyed  to  Scotland  by  Calais,  accompanied 
by  the  Cardinals  de  Guise  and  de  Lorraine,  her 
uncles,  by  the  Due  and  Duchesse  de  Guise,  the  Due 
d'Aumale,  and  M.  de  Nemours. 

Here  took  place  that  heartrending  farewell, 
which  poets  and  painters,  as  well  as  historians  and 
novelists,  have  done  so  much  to  perpetuate.  "  Adieu, 
France !  "  she  sobbed.  "  Adieu,  France !  "  And  for 
five  hours  she  continued  to  weep  and  sob,  "  Adieu, 
France !  Adieu,  France !  "  For  the  rest,  the  well- 
known  historical  figures  are  made  use  of  by  Dumas, 


324  Dumas'  parts 

—  Damley,  Rizzio,  Huntley,  and  Hamilton,  —  but 
the  action  does  not,  of  course,  return  to  France. 

Not  far  south  of  Calais  is  Arras,  whence  came 
the  Robespierre  who  was  to  set  France  aflame. 

"  The  ancestors  of  the  Robespierres,"  says  Dumas, 
"  formed  a  part  of  those  Irish  colonists  who  came 
to  France  to  inhabit  our  seminaries  and  monasteries. 
There  they  received  from  the  Jesuits  the  good  ed- 
ucations they  were  accustomed  to  give  to  their  pupils. 
From  father  to  son  they  were  notaries ;  one  branch 
of  the  family,  that  from  which  this  great  man  de- 
scends, established  himself  at  Arras,  a  great  centre, 
as  you  know,  of  noblesse  and  the  church. 

"  There  were  in  this  town  two  seigneurs,  or, 
rather,  two  kings;  one  was  the  Abbe  of  St.  Waast, 
the  other  was  the  Bishop  of  Arras,  whose  palace 
threw  one-half  the  town  into  shade." 

The  former  palace  of  the  Bishop  of  Arras  is 
to-day  the  local  musee.  It  is  an  extensive  estab- 
lishment, and  it  flanks  an  atrocious  Renaissance 
cathedral  of  no  appealing  charm  whatever,  and,  in- 
deed, the  one-time  bishop's  palace  does  not  look  as 
though  It  was  ever  a  very  splendid  establishment. 

Still  farther  to  the  southward  of  Calais  is  the 
feudal  Castle  of  Pierrefonds,  so  beloved  of  Porthos 
in  "  Vingt  Ans  Apres."  It  is,  and  has  ever  been 
since  its  erection  in  1390  by  Louis  d'Orleans,  the 


Zbc  jfrcncb  provinces  325 

brother  of  Charles  VI.,  one  of  the  most  highly  im- 
pregnable and  luxurious  chateaux  of  all  France. 

Four  times  it  was  unsuccessfully  besieged,  and 
came  finally,  in  1617,  to  be  dismantled. 

The  great  Napoleon  purchased  it  after  the  Revo- 
lution, and  finally,  through  the  liberality  of  Napo- 
leon III.,  —  one  of  the  few  acts  which  redound  to 
his  credit,  —  it  was  restored,  by  Viollet-le-Duc,  at 
a  cost  of  over  five  million  francs. 

In  "  Pauline,"  that  fragment  which  Dumas  ex- 
tracted from  one  of  his  "  Impressions  du  Voyage," 
the  author  comes  down  to  modem  times,  and  gives 
us,  as  he  does  in  his  journals  of  travel,  his  "  Me- 
moires,"  and  others  of  his  lighter  pieces  of  fiction, 
many  charming  pen-portraits  of  localities  familiar 
not  only  to  his  pen,  but  to  his  personal  experiences. 

He  draws  in  "  Pauline  "  a  delightful  picture  of 
the  old  fishing-village  of  Trouville  —  before  it  be- 
came a  resort  of  fashion.  In  his  own  words  he 
describes  it  as  follows: 

"  I  took  the  steamer  from  Havre,  and  two  hours 
later  was  at  Honfleur;  the  next  morning  I  was  at 
Trouville." 

To-day  the  fly-by-day  tourist  does  the  whole 
journey  in  a  couple  of  hours  —  if  he  does  not  linger 
over  the  attractions  of  "  Les  Petits  Chevaux  "  or 
"  Trente  et  Quarante,"  at  Honfleur's  pretty  Casino. 


326  Dumas'  parts 

"  You  know  the  little  town  with  its  population 
of  fisher-folk.  It  is  one  of  the  most  picturesque  in 
Normandy.  I  stayed  there  a  few  days,  exploring 
the  neighbourhood,  and  in  the  evening  I  used  to 
sit  in  the  chimney-corner  with  my  worthy  hostess, 
Madame  Oseraie.  There  I  heard  strange  tales  of 
adventures  which  had  been  enacted  in  Calvados, 
Loiret,  and  La  Manche." 

Continuing,  the  author,  evidently  having  become 
imbued  with  the  local  colour  of  the  vicinity,  de- 
scribes, more  or  less  superficially,  perhaps,  but  still 
with  vividness,  if  not  minuteness,  those  treasure- 
chests  of  history,  the  towns  and  villages  of  Nor- 
mandy :  —  Caen,  Lisieux,  Falaise,  the  cradle  of  the 
Conqueror  William,  "  the  fertile  plains "  around 
Pont  Audemer,  Havre,  and  Alengon. 

Normandy,  too,  was  the  locale  of  the  early  life 
of  Gabriel  Lambert,  the  unappealing  leading-man  of 
that  dramatic  story  of  a  counterfeiter's  life,  which 
bears  the  same  title. 

Dumas'  first  acquaintance  with  the  character  in 
real  life,  —  if  he  had  any  real  personality,  as  one  is 
inclined  to  think  he  had,  —  was  at  Toulon,  where 
the  unfortunate  man  was  imprisoned  and  made  to 
work  in  the  galleys. 

In  the  course  of  the  narrative  the  scene  shifts 
from  prisons,  galleys,  and  chain-gangs,  backward 


Ubc  iprcncb  provinces  327 

and  forward,  until  we  get  the  whole  gamut  of  the 
criminal's  life. 

Gabriel,  in  the  days  of  his  early  life  at  Trouville, 
had  acquired  the  art  of  skilled  penmanship,  and 
used  it  wherever  he  could  for  his  own  advantage, 
by  fabricating  the  handwriting  of  others  —  and 
some  honest  work  of  a  similar  nature. 

Finally  the  call  of  Paris  came  strong  upon  him, 
and  he  set  forth  by  Pont  TEveque  and  Rouen  to  the 
metropolis,  where  his  downfall  was  speedily  con- 
summated, to  the  sorrow  and  resentment  of  his  old 
friends  of  the  little  Norman  fishing-village,  and 
more  particularly  to  Marie  Granger,  his  country 
sweetheart,  who  longed  to  follow  him  to  Paris,  not 
suspecting  the  actual  turn  affairs  had  taken. 

In  "  The  Count  of  Monte  Cristo,"  Dumas  again 
evinces  his  fondness  for,  and  acquaintance  with,  the 
coast  of  Normandy. 

It  is  a  brief  reference,  to  be  sure,  but  it  shows 
that  Dumas  had  some  considerable  liking  for  the 
sea,  and  a  more  or  less  minute  knowledge  of  the 
coast  of  France.  This  is  further  evinced  by  the 
details  into  which  he  launches  once  and  again,  with 
reference  to  the  littoral  of  the  Mediterranean,  Belle 
He,  and  its  surroundings,  and  the  coasts  of  Nor- 
mandy, Brittany,  and  the  Pas  de  Calais. 


328  Dumas'  parte 

In  "  The  Count  of  Monte  Cristo,"  Dantes  says  to 
his  companion,  Bertuccio: 

"  '  I  am  desirous  of  having  an  estate  by  the  sea- 
side in  Normandy  —  for  instance,  between  Havre 
and  Boulogne.  You  see,  I  give  you  a  wide  range. 
It  will  be  absolutely  necessary  that  the  place  you 
may  select  have  a  small  harbour,  creek,  or  bay,  into 
which  my  vessel  can  enter  and  remain  at  anchor. 
She  merely  draws  fifteen  feet  water.  She  must  be 
kept  in  constant  readiness  to  sail  immediately  I  think 
proper  to  give  the  signal.  Make  the  requisite  in- 
quiries for  a  place  of  this  description,  and  when  you 
have  met  with  an  eligible  spot,  visit  it,  and  if  it 
possess  the  advantages  desired,  purchase  it  at  once 
in  your  own  name.  The  corvette  must  now,  I  think, 
be  on  her  way  to  Fecamp,  must  she  not? '  " 

With  Brittany,  Dumas  is  quite  as  familiar.  In  "Le 
Vicomte  de  Bragelonne,"  he  gives  minute,  though 
not  wearisome,  details  of  Belle  He  and  the  Breton 
coast  around  about.  Aramis,  it  seems,  had  acquired 
Belle  He,  and  had  risen  to  high  ecclesiastical  rank, 
making  his  home  thereon. 

Dumas'  love  and  knowledge  of  gastronomy  comes 
to  the  fore  again  here.  When  D'Artagnan  under- 
took his  famous  journey  to  Belle  He,  on  the  coast 
of  Brittany,  as  messenger  of  Louis  XIV.,  whom  he 
called  his  sun,   after  he  had  bought  that  snuff- 


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NOTRE    DAME    DE    CHARTRES 


Ube  fftcncb  provinces  329 

coloured  bidet  which  would  have  disgraced  a  cor- 
poral, and  after  he  had  shortened  his  name  to 
Agnan,  —  to  complete  his  disguise,  —  he  put  in  one 
night  at  La  Roche-Bernard,  "  a  tolerably  important 
city  at  the  mouth  of  the  Vilaine,  and  prepared  to 
sup  at  a  hotel."  And  he  did  sup ;  "  off  a  teal  and  a 
torteau,  and  in  order  to  wash  down  these  two  dis- 
tinctive Breton  dishes,  ordered  some  cider,  which, 
the  moment  it  touched  his  lips,  he  perceived  to  be 
more  Breton  still." 

On  the  route  from  Paris  to  the  mouth  of  the 
Loire,  where  D'Artagnan  departed  for  Belle  He,  is 
Chartres.  Its  Cathedral  de  Notre  Dame  has  not 
often  appeared  in  fiction.  In  history  and  books  of 
travel,  and  of  artistic  and  archaeological  interest, 
its  past  has  been  vigorously  played. 

Dumas,  in  "  La  Dame  de  Monsoreau,"  has  re- 
vived the  miraculous  legend  which  tradition  has 
preserved. 

It  recounts  a  ceremony  which  many  will  consider 
ludicrous,  and  yet  others  sacrilegious.  Dumas  de- 
scribes it  thus: 

"  The  month  of  April  had  arrived.  The  great 
cathedral  of  Chartres  was  hung  with  white,  and 
the  king  was  standing  barefooted  in  the  nave.  The 
religious  ceremonies,  which  were  for  the  purpose 
of  praying  for  an  heir  to  the  throne  of  France, 


330  Dumas'  parts 

were  just  finishing,  when  Henri,  in  the  midst  of 
the  general  silence,  heard  what  seemed  to  him  a 
stifled  laugh.  He  turned  around  to  see  if  Chicot 
were  there,  for  he  thought  no  one  else  would  have 
dared  to  laugh  at  such  a  time.  It  was  not,  however, 
Chicot  who  had  laughed  at  the  sight  of  the  two 
chemises  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  which  were  said  to 
have  such  a  prolific  power,  and  which  were  just 
being  drawn  from  their  golden  box;  but  it  was  a 
cavalier  who  had  just  stopped  at  the  door  of  the 
church,  and  who  was  making  his  way  with  his 
muddy  boots  through  the  crowd  of  courtiers  in  their 
penitents'  robes  and  sacks.  Seeing  the  king  turn, 
he  stopped  for  a  moment,  and  Henri,  irritated  at 
seeing  him  arrive  thus,  threw  an  angry  glance  at 
him.  The  newcomer,  however,  continued  to  ad- 
vance until  he  reached  the  velvet  chair  of  M.  le  Due 
d'Anjou,  by  which  be  knelt  down." 

But  a  step  from  Chartres,  on  the  Loire,  —  though 
Orleans,  the  "  City  of  the  Maid,"  comes  between, 
—  is  Blois. 

In  "  Le  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne,"  the  last  of 
the  D'Artagnan  series,  the  action  comes  down  to 
later  times,  to  that  of  the  young  king  Louis  XIV. 

In  its  opening  lines  its  scene  is  laid  in  that 
wonderfully  ornate  and  impressive  Chateau  of  Blois, 


XTbe  ]ftcncb  provinces  331 

which  so  many  have  used  as  a  background  for  all 
manner  of  writing. 

Dumas,  with  his  usual  directness,  wasting  no 
words  on  mere  description,  and  only  considering 
it  as  an  accessory  to  his  romance,  refers  briefly  to 
this  magnificent  building  —  the  combined  product 
of  the  houses  whose  arms  bore  the  hedgehog  and 
the  salamander. 

"  Toward  the  middle  of  the  month  of  May,  1660, 
when  the  sun  was  fast  absorbing  the  dew  from  the 
ravenelles  of  the  Chateau  of  Blois,  a  little  cavalcade 
entered  the  city  by  the  bridge,  without  producing 
any  effect  upon  the  passengers  of  the  quai-side, 
except  a  movement  of  the  tongue  to  express,  in 
the  purest  French  then  spoken  in  France  (Touraine 
has  ever  spoken  the  purest  tongue,  as  all  know), 
*  There  is  Monsieur  returning  from  the  hunt.'  .  .  . 
It  should  have  been  a  trifling  source  of  pride  to  the 
city  of  Blois  that  Gaston  of  Orleans  had  chosen  it 
as  his  residence,  and  held  his  court  in  the  ancient 
chateau  of  its  states." 

It  was  in  the  Castle  of  the  States  of  Blois  that 
Louis  XIV.  received  that  unexpected  visit  from 
"  His  Majesty  Charles  II.,  King  of  England,  Scot- 
land, and  Ireland,"  of  which  Dumas  writes  in  the 
second  of  the  D'Artagnan  series. 

" '  How  strange  it  is  you  are  here,'  said  Louis. 


332  2)umas'  Paris 

*  I  only  knew  of  your  embarkation  at  Brighthelm- 
stone,  and  your  landing  in  Normandy.'  .  .  . 

"  Blois  was  peaceful  that  morning  of  the  royal 
arrival,  at  which  announcement  it  was  suddenly  filled 
with  all  the  tumult  and  the  buzzing  of  a  swarm  of 
bees.  In  the  lower  city,  scarce  a  hundred  paces 
from  the  castle,  is  a  sufficiently  handsome  street 
called  the  Rue  Vieille,  and  an  old  and  venerable 
edifice  which,  tradition  says,  was  habited  by  a  coun- 
cillor of  state,  to  whom  Queen  Catherine  came,  some 
say  to  visit  and  others  to  strangle.'* 

Not  alone  is  Blois  reminiscent  of  "  Les  Mous- 
quetaires,"  but  the  numberless  references  in  the 
series  to  Langeais,  Chambord,  —  the  chateaux  and 
their  domains,  —  bring  to  mind  more  forcibly  th^n 
by  innuendo  merely  that  Dumas  himself  must  have 
had  some  great  fondness  for  what  has  come  to  be 
the  touring-ground  of  France  par  excellence. 

From  "  Le  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne,"  one  quotes 
these  few  lines  which,  significantly,  suggest  much: 
"  Do  you  not  remember,  Montalais,  the  woods  of 
Chavemey,  and  of  Chambord,  and  the  numberless 
poplars  of  Blois  ?  "  This  describes  the  country  con- 
cisely, but  explicitly. 

Beyond  Blois,  beyond  even  Tours,  which  is  Blois' 
next  neighbour,  passing  down  the  Loire,  is  Angers. 

In  "  La  Dame  de  Monsoreau,"  more  commonly 


CASTLE    OF    ANGERS. CHATEAU    OF    BLOIS 


Ubc  jfrencb  provinces  333 

known  in  English  translations  as  "  Chicot  the 
Jester,"  much  of  the  scene  is  laid  in  Anjou. 

To  Angers,  with  its  wonderful  fairylike  castle, 
with  its  seventeen  black-banded  towers  (recalling, 
also,  that  this  is  the  "  Black  Angers  "  of  Shake- 
speare's "  King  John  "),  repaired  the  Due  d' Anjou, 
the  brother  of  Charles  IX.  and  Henri  III.,  who  then 
reigned  at  Paris. 

To  this  "  secret  residence  "  the  due  came.  Dumas 
puts  it  thus : 

"  *  Gentlemen ! '  cried  the  duke,  *  I  have  come  to 
throw  myself  into  my  good  city  of  Angers.  At 
Paris  the  most  terrible  dangers  have  menaced  my 
life.'  .  .  .  The  people  then  cried  out,  *  Long  live 
our  seigneur ! '  " 

Bussy,  who  had  made  the  way  clear  for  the  due, 
lived,  says  Dumas,  "  in  a  tumble-down  old  house 
near  the  ramparts."  The  ducal  palace  was  actually 
outside  the  castle  walls,  but  the  frowning  battle- 
ment was  relied  upon  to  shelter  royalty  when  occa- 
sion required,  the  suite  quartering  themselves  in  the 
Gothic  chateau,  which  is  still  to  be  seen  in  the 
debris-cluttered  lumber-yard,  to  which  the  interior 
of  the  fortress  has  to-day  descended. 

In  other  respects  than  the  shocking  care,  or, 
rather,  the  lack  of  care,  which  is  given  to  its  interior, 
the  Castle  of  Angers,  with  its  battalion  of  tours. 


334  Dumas'  pads 

now  without  their  turrets,  its  deep,  machicolated 
walls,  and  its  now  dry  fosse,  presents  in  every  way 
an  awe-inspiring  stronghold. 

Beyond  Angers,  toward  the  sea,  is  Nantes,  fa- 
mous for  the  Edict,  and,  in  "  The  Regent's  Daugh- 
ter" of  Dumas,  the  massacre  of  the  four  Breton 
conspirators. 

Gaston,  the  hero  of  the  tale,  had  ridden  post- 
haste from  Paris  to  save  his  fellows.  He  was  pre- 
ceded, by  two  hours,  by  the  order  for  their  exe- 
cution, and  the  reprieve  which  he  held  would  be 
valueless  did  he  arrive  too  late. 

"  On  reaching  the  gates  of  Nantes  his  horse 
stumbled,  but  Gaston  did  not  lose  his  stirrups,  pulled 
him  up  sharply,  and,  driving  the  spurs  into  his  sides, 
he  made  him  recover  himself. 

"  The  night  was  dark,  no  one  appeared  upon  the 
ramparts,  the  very  sentinels  were  hidden  in  the 
gloom;    it  seemed  like  a  deserted  city. 

"  But  as  he  passed  the  gate  a  sentinel  said  some- 
thing which  Gaston  did  not  even  hear. 

"  He  held  on  his  way. 

"  At  the  Rue  du  Chateau  his  horse  stumbled  and 
fell,  this  time  to  rise  no  more. 

"  What  mattered  it  to  Gaston  now  ?  —  he  had 
arrived.  .  .  . 

"  He  passed  right  through  the  castle,  when  he 


Ube  jfrencb  provinces  335 

perceived  the  esplanade,  a  scaffold,  and  a  crowd. 
He  tried  to  cry,  but  no  one  heard  him ;  to  wave  his 
handkerchief,  but  no  one  saw  him.  .  .  .  Another 
mounts  the  scaffold,  and,  uttering  a  cry,  Gaston 
threw  himself  down  below.  .  .  .  Four  men  died 
who  might  have  been  saved  had  Gaston  but  ar- 
rived ^ye  minutes  before,  and,  by  a  remarkable  con- 
tretemps, Gaston  himself  shared  the  same  fate." 

In  "  The  Regent's  Daughter,"  Dumas  describes 
the  journey  to  Nantes  with  great  preciseness,  though 
with  no  excess  of  detail.  The  third  chapter  opens 
thus: 

"  Three  nights  after  that  on  which  we  have  seen 
the  regent,  first  at  Chelles,  and  then  at  Meudon,  a 
scene  passed  in  the  environs  of  Nantes  which  cannot 
be  omitted  in  this  history;  we  will  therefore  exer- 
cise our  privilege  of  transporting  the  reader  to  that 
place. 

"  On  the  road  to  Clisson,  two  or  three  miles  from 
Nantes,  —  near  the  convent  known  as  the  residence 
of  Abelard,  —  was  a  large  dark  house,  surrounded 
by  thick,  stunted  trees;  hedges  everywhere  sur- 
rounded the  enclosure  outside  the  walls,  hedges  im- 
pervious to  the  sight,  and  only  interrupted  by  a 
wicket  gate. 

"  This  gate  led  into  a  garden,  at  the  end  of  which 
was  a  wall,  having  a  small,  massive,  and  closed 


33^  Dumas'  pads 

door.  From  a  distance  this  grave  and  dismal  resi- 
dence appeared  like  a  prison;  it  was,  however,  a 
convent,  full  of  young  Augustines,  subject  to  a  rule 
lenient  as  compared  with  provincial  customs,  but 
rigid  as  compared  with  those  of  Paris. 

"  The  house  was  inaccessible  on  three  sides,  but 
the  fourth,  which  did  not  face  the  road,  abutted  on 
a  large  sheet  of  water;  and  ten  feet  above  its  sur- 
face were  the  windows  of  the  refectory. 

"  This  little  lake  was  carefully  guarded,  and  was 
surrounded  by  high  wooden  palisades.  A  single 
iron  gate  opened  into  it,  and  at  the  same  time  gave 
a  passage  to  the  waters  of  a  small  rivulet  which  fed 
the  lake,  and  the  water  had  egress  at  the  opposite 
end." 

From  this  point  on,  the  action  of  "  The  Regent's 
Daughter  "  runs  riotously  rapid,  until  it  finally  cul- 
minates, so  far  as  Nantes  is  concerned,  in  the  quin- 
tuple execution  before  the  chateau,  brought  about 
by  the  five  minutes'  delay  of  Gaston  with  the  re- 
prieve. 

Dumas'  knowledge  of  and  love  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean was  great,  and  he  knew  its  western  shores 
intimately. 

In  1830  he  resolved  to  visit  all  the  shores  of  the 


Ube  ifrcncb  IC>ro\>ince0  337 

Mediterranean  in  a  yacht,  which  he  had  had  specially 
built  for  the  purpose,  called  the  Emma, 

He  arrived  in  Sicily,  however,  at  the  moment  of 
the  Garibaldian  struggle  against  the  King  of  Italy, 
with  the  result  that  the  heroic  elements  of  that 
event  so  appealed  to  him,  that  he  forewent  the  other 
more  tranquil  pleasure  of  continuing  his  voyage,  and 
went  over  to  the  mainland. 

In  "  The  Count  of  Monte  Cristo  "  is  given  one 
of  Dumas'  best  bits  of  descriptive  writing.  At  any 
rate,  it  describes  one  of  the  aspects  of  the  brilliantly 
blue  Mediterranean,  which  is  only  comparable  to 
one's  personal  contemplation  of  its  charms.  It  is 
apropos  of  the  voyage  to  the  island  of  Monte  Cristo 
—  which  lies  between  Elba  and  Corsica,  and  has 
become  fabled  in  the  minds  of  present-day  readers 
solely  by  Dumas'  efforts  —  that  he  wrote  the  follow- 
ing: 

"  It  was  about  six  o'clock  in  the  evening ;  an  opal- 
coloured  light,  through  which  an  autumnal  sun  shed 
its  golden  rays,  descended  on  the  blue  sea.  The 
heat  of  the  day  had  gradually  decreased,  and  a  light 
breeze  arose,  seeming  like  the  respiration  of  nature 
on  awakening  from  the  burning  siesta  of  the  south ; 
a  delicious  zephyr  played  along  the  coasts  of  the 
Mediterranean,  and  wafted  from  shore  to  shore  the 


338  Duntas^  parts 

sweet  perfume  of  plants,  mingled  with  the  fresh 
smell  of  the  sea. 

"  A  light  yacht,  chaste  and  elegant  in  its  form, 
was  gliding  amidst  the  first  dews  of  night  over  the 
immense  lake,  extending  from  Gibraltar  to  the  Dar- 
danelles, and  from  Tunis  to  Venice.  The  motion 
resembled  that  of  a  swan  with  its  wings  opened 
toward  the  wind,  gliding  on  the  water.  It  ad- 
vanced, at  the  same  time,  swiftly  and  gracefully, 
leaving  behind  it  a  glittering  track.  By  degrees 
the  sun  disappeared  behind  the  western  horizon; 
but,  as  though  to  prove  the  truth  of  the  fanciful 
ideas  in  heathen  mythology,  its  indiscreet  rays  re- 
appeared on  the  summit  of  each  wave,  seeming  to 
reveal  that  the  god  of  fire  had  just  enfolded  himself 
in  the  bosom  of  Amphitrite,  who  in  vain  endeav- 
oured to  hide  her  lover  beneath  her  azure  mantle.*' 

Of  the  island  of  Monte  Cristo  itself,  Dumas*  de- 
scription is  equally  gratifying.  In  the  earlier  chap- 
ters he  gives  it  thus: 

"  The  isle  of  Monte  Cristo  loomed  large  in  the 
horizon.  .  .  .  They  were  just  abreast  of  Mareciana, 
and  beyond  the  flat  but  verdant  isle  of  La  Pianosa. 
The  peak  of  Monte  Cristo,  reddened  by  the  burning 
sun,  was  seen  against  the  azure  sky.  .  .  .  About 
five  o'clock  in  the  evening  the  island  was  quite  dis- 
tinct, and  everything  on  it  was  plainly  perceptible. 


Ube  jftencb  provinces 


339 


owing  to  that  clearness  of  the  atmosphere  which  is 
pecuHar  to  the  Hght  which  the  rays  of  the  sun  cast 
at  its  setting. 

'*  Edmond  gazed  most  earnestly  at  the  mass  of 
rocks  which  gave  out  all  the  variety  of  twilight 
colours,  from  the  brightest  pink  to  the  deepest  blue ; 
and  from  time  to  time  his  cheeks  flushed,  his  brow 
became  purple,  and  a  mist  passed  over  his  eyes.  .  .  . 
In  spite  of  his  usual  command  over  himself,  Dantes 
could  not  restrain  his  impetuosity.  He  was  the  first 
who  jumped  on  shore;  and  had  he  dared,  he  would, 
like  Lucius  Brutus,  have  *  kissed  his  mother  earth.' 
It  was  dark,  but  at  eleven  o'clock  the  moon  rose  in 
the  midst  of  the  ocean,  whose  every  wave  she  sil- 
vered, and  then,  *  ascending  high,'  played  in  floods 
of  pale  light  on  the  rocky  hills  of  this  second  Pelion. 

"  The  island  was  familiar  to  the  crew  of  La 
Jeune  Amelie  —  it  was  one  of  her  halting-places. 
As  to  Dantes,  he  had  passed  it  on  his  voyages  to  and 
from  the  Levant,  but  never  touched  at  it." 

It  is  unquestionable  that  "  The  Count  of  Monte 
Cristo  "  is  the  most  popular  and  the  best  known  of 
all  Dumas'  works.  There  is  a  deal  of  action,  of 
personality  and  characterization,  and,  above  all,  an 
ever-shifting  panorama,  which  extends  from  the 
boulevards  of  Marseilles  to  the  faubourgs  of  Paris, 
and  from  the  island  Chateau  d'lf  to  the  equally 


340  Dumas'  parts 

melancholy  allees  of  Pere  la  Chaise,  which  M.  de 
Villefort,  a  true  Parisian,  considered  alone  worthy 
of  receiving  the  remains  of  a  Parisian  family,  as 
it  was  there  only  that  they  would  be  surrounded  by 
worthy  associates. 

All  travellers  for  the  East,  via  the  Mediterranean, 
know  well  the  ancient  Phoenician  port  of  Marseilles. 
One  does  not  need  even  the  words  of  Dumas  to 
recall  its  picturesqueness  and  importance  —  to-day 
as  in  ages  past.  Still,  the  opening  lines  of  "  The 
Count  of  Monte  Cristo  "  do  form  a  word-picture 
which  few  have  equalled  in  the  pages  of  romance; 
and  there  is  not  a  word  too  much;  nothing  super- 
fluous or  extraneous. 

"On  the  28th  of  February,  1815,  the  watch- 
tower  of  Notre  Dame  de  la  Garde  signalled  the 
three-master,  the  Pharaon,  from  Smyrna,  Trieste, 
and  Naples. 

"  As  usual,  a  pilot  put  off  immediately,  and, 
rounding  the  Chateau  dTf,  got  on  board  the  vessel 
between  Cape  Morgion  and  the  isle  of  Rion. 

"  Immediately,  and  according  to  custom,  the  plat- 
form of  Fort  Saint- Jean  was  covered  with  look- 
ers-on; it  is  always  an  event  at  Marseilles  for  a 
ship  to  come  into  port,  especially  when  this  ship, 
like  the  Pharaon,  had  been  built,  rigged,  and  laden 


Ube  JFtencb  lpro\>tnce0  341 

on  the  stocks  of  the  old  Phocee,  and  belonged  to 
an  owner  of  the  city. 

''  The  ship  drew  on :  it  had  safely  passed  the 
strait,  which  some  volcanic  shock  has  made  between 
the  isle  of  Calasareigne  and  the  isle  of  Jaros;  had 
doubled  Pomegue,  and  approached  the  harbour  un- 
der topsails,  jib,  and  foresail,  but  so  slowly  and 
sedately  that  the  Idlers,  with  that  instinct  which 
misfortune  sends  before  it,  asked  one  another  what 
misfortune  could  have  happened  on  board.  How- 
ever, those  experienced  in  navigation  saw  plainly 
that,  if  any  accident  had  occurred,  it  was  not  to  the 
vessel  herself,  for  she  bore  down  with  all  the  evi- 
dence of  being  skilfully  handled,  the  anchor  ready 
to  be  dropped,  the  bowsprit-shrouds  loose,  and,  be- 
side the  pilot,  who  was  steering  the  Pharaon  by  the 
narrow  entrance  of  the  port  Marseilles,  was  a  young 
man,  who,  with  activity  and  vigilant  eye,  watched 
every  motion  of  the  ship,  and  repeated  each  direction 
of  the  pilot. 

"  The  vague  disquietude  which  prevailed  amongst 
the  spectators  had  so  much  affected  one  of  the 
crowd  that  he  did  not  await  the  arrival  of  the  vessel 
in  harbour,  but,  jumping  into  a  small  skiff,  desired 
to  be  pulled  alongside  the  Pharaon,  which  he  reached 
as  she  rounded  the  creek  of  La  Reserve." 

The  process  of  coming  into  harbour  at  Marseilles 


342  2)ttma0'  Paris 

does  not  differ  greatly  to-day  from  the  description 
given  by  Dumas. 

New  harbour  works  have  been  constructed,  and 
saiHng-ships  have  mostly  given  way  to  great  steam- 
ers, but  the  channel  winds  and  twists  as  of  old 
under  the  lofty  brow,  capped  by  the  sailors'  church 
of  Notre  Dame  de  la  Garde,  which  is  to-day  a 
tawdry,  bizarre  shrine,  as  compared  with  the  motive 
which  inspired  the  devout  to  ascend  its  heights  to 
pray  for  those  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships. 

Marseilles,  of  all  cities  of  France,  more  even  than 
Bordeaux  or  Lyons,  is  possessed  of  that  individual- 
ity which  stands  out  strong  on  the  background  of 
France  —  the  land  and  the  nation. 

In  the  commercial  world  its  importance  gives  it 
a  high  rank,  and  its  affaires  are  regulated  by  no 
clues  sent  each  morning  by  post  or  by  telegraph 
from  the  world's  other  marts  of  trade.  It  has,  more- 
over, in  the  Canebiere,  one  of  the  truly  great  streets 
of  the  world.  Dumas  remarked  it,  and  so,  too,  have 
many  others,  who  know  its  gay  cosmopolitan  aspect 
at  all  the  hours  of  day  and  night. 

From  "  The  Count  of  Monte  Cristo,"  the  follow- 
ing lines  describe  it  justly  and  truly,  and  in  a  way 
that  fits  it  admirably,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  Dumas 
wrote  of  it  as  it  was  a  hundred  years  ago : 

"  The  young  sailor  jumped  into  the  skiff,  and 


Ube  ifrencb  iProvince^  343 

sat  down  in  the  stem,  desiring  to  be  put  ashore  at 
the  Canebiere.  The  two  rowers  bent  to  their  work, 
and  the  little  boat  glided  away  as  rapidly  as  possi- 
ble in  the  midst  of  the  thousand  vessels  which  choke 
up  the  narrow  way  which  leads  between  the  two 
rows  of  ships  from  the  mouth  of  the  harbour  to  the 
Quai  d'Orleans. 

"  The  ship-owner,  smiling,  followed  him  with  his 
eyes  until  he  saw  him  spring  out  on  the  quai  and 
disappear  in  the  midst  of  the  throng,  which,  from 
five  o'clock  in  the  morning  until  nine  o'clock  at 
night,  choke  up  this  famous  street  of  La  Canebiere, 
of  which  the  modem  Phoceens  are  so  proud,  and 
say,  with  all  the  gravity  in  the  world,  and  with  that 
accent  which  gives  so  much  character  to  what  is 
said,  *  If  Paris  had  La  Canebiere,  Paris  would  be 
a  second  Marseilles.' " 

The  Chateau  d'lf,  far  more  than  the  island  of 
Monte  Cristo  itself,  is  the  locale  which  is  mostly  re- 
called with  regard  to  the  romance  of  "  Monte 
Cristo." 

Dumas  has,  of  course,  made  melodramatic  use  of 
it;  in  fact,  it  seems  almost  as  if  he  had  built  the 
romance  around  its  own  restricted  pied  a  terre,  but, 
nevertheless,  it  is  the  one  element  which  we  are 
pleased  to  call  up  as  representative  of  the  story 
when  mention  is  made  thereof* 


344  Dumas'  Paris 

Not  a  line,  not  a  word,  is  misplaced  in  the  chap- 
ters in  which  Dumas  treats  of  Dantes'  incarceration 
in  his  island  prison.  Description  does  not  crowd 
upon  action  or  characterization,  nor  the  reverse. 

"  Through  the  grating  of  the  window  of  the  car- 
riage, Dantes  saw  they  were  passing  through  the 
Rue  Caisserie,  and  by  the  Quai  St.  Laurent  and  the 
Rue  Taramis,  to  the  port.  They  advanced  toward 
a  boat  which  a  custom-house  officer  held  by  a  chain 
near  the  quai.  A  shove  sent  the  boat  adrift,  and 
the  oarsman  plied  it  rapidly  toward  the  Pilon.  At 
a  shout  the  chain  that  closes  the  port  was  lowered, 
and  in  a  second  they  were  outside  the  harbour.  .  .  . 
They  had  passed  the  Tete  de  More,  and  were  now 
in  front  of  the  lighthouse  and  about  to  double  the 
battery.  .  .  .  They  had  left  the  isle  Ratonneau, 
where  the  lighthouse  stood,  on  the  right,  and  were 
now  opposite  the  Point  des  Catalans. 

"  *  Tell  me  where  you  are  conducting  me?  '  asked 
Dantes  of  his  guard. 

"  *  You  are  a  native  of  Marseilles,  and  a  sailor, 
and  yet  you  do  not  know  where  you  are  going  ? ' 

"  *  On  my  honour,  I  have  no  idea.' 

"  *  That  is  impossible.' 

"  *  I  swear  to  you  it  is  true.    Tell  me,  I  entreat.' 

"  *  But  my  orders.' 

*' '  Your  orders   do  not  forbid  your  telling  me 


Ube  jftencb  ptoiotnces  345 

what  I  must  know  in  ten  minutes,  in  half  an  hour, 
or  an  hour.  You  see,  I  cannot  escape,  even  if  I 
intended.' 

"  *  Unless  you  are  blind,  or  have  never  been  out- 
side the  harbour,  you  must  know.' 

"  *  I  do  not.' 

"  *  Look  around  you,  then.'  Dantes  rose  and 
looked  forward,  when  he  saw  rise  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  him  the  black  and  frowning  rock  on  which 
stands  the  Chateau  d'lf.  This  gloomy  fortress, 
which  has  for  more  than  three  hundred  years  fur- 
nished food  for  so  many  wild  legends,  seemed  to 
Dantes  like  a  scaffold  to  a  malefactor. 

"  '  The  Chateau  d'lf?  '  cried  he.  '  What  are  we 
going  there  for  ?  '    The  gendarme  smiled. 

"  *  I  am  not  going  there  to  be  imprisoned,'  said 
Dantes ;  *  it  is  only  used  for  political  prisoners.  I 
have  committed  no  crime.  Are  there  any  magis- 
trates or  judges  at  the  Chateau  d'lf? ' 

"  *  There  are  only,'  said  the  gendarme,  *  a  gov- 
ernor, a  garrison,  turnkeys,  and  good  thick  w^alls. 
Come,  come,  do  not  look  so  astonished,  or  you  will 
make  me  think  you  are  laughing  at  me  in  return 
for  my  good  nature.'  Dantes  pressed  the  gen- 
darme's hand  as  though  he  would  crush  it. 

** '  You  think,  then,'  said  he,  '  that  I  am  conducted 
to  the  chateau  to  be  imprisoned  there  ? ' 


346  Dumas'  lPari5 

"  '  It  is  probable/  " 

The  details  of  Dantes'  horrible  confinement,  at 
first  in  an  upper  cell,  and  later  in  a  lower  dungeon, 
where,  as  ''  No.  34,"  he  became  the  neighbour  of  the 
old  Abbe  Faria,  "  No.  27,"  are  well  known  of  all 
lovers  of  Dumas.  The  author  does  not  weary  one, 
and  there  are  no  lengthy  descriptions  dragged  in 
to  merely  fill  space.  When  Dantes  finally  escapes 
from  the  chateau,  after  he  had  been  imprisoned  for 
fourteen  years,  Dumas  again  launches  into  that  con- 
cise, direct  word-painting  which  proclaims  him  the 
master. 

"  It  was  necessary  for  Dantes  to  strike  out  to  sea. 
Ratonneau  and  Pomegue  are  the  nearest  isles  of 
all  those  that  surround  the  Chateau  dTf;  but  Ra- 
tonneau and  Pomegue  are  inhabited,  together  with 
the  islet  of  Daume;  Tiboulen  or  Lemaire  were  the 
most  secure.  The  isles  of  Tiboulen  and  Lemaire  are 
a  league  from  the  Chateau  dTf.  .  .  . 

"  Before  him  rose  a  mass  of  strangely  formed 
rocks,  that  resembled  nothing  so  much  as  a  vast 
fire  petrified  at  the  moment  of  its  most  fervent  com- 
bustion.   It  was  the  isle  of  Tiboulen.  .  .  . 

"As  he  rose,  a  flash  of  lightning,  that  seemed 
as  if  the  whole  of  the  heavens  were  opened,  illu- 
mined the  darkness.    By  its  light,  he  saw  the  isle  of 


Ube  jFrencb  provinces  347 

Lemaire  and  Cape  Croiselle,  a  quarter  of  a  league 
distant." 

In  "  The  Count  of  Monte  Cristo,"  Dumas  makes 
a  little  journey  up  the  valley  of  the  Rhone  into 
Provence. 

In  the  chapter  entitled  "  The  Auberge  of  the  Pont 
du  Card,"  he  writes,  in  manner  unmistakably  famil- 
iar, of  this  land  of  the  troubadours,  the  roses,  and 
the  beautiful  women;  for  the  women  of  Aries  — 
those  world-famous  Arlesiennes  —  are  the  peers,  in 
looks,  of  all  the  women  of  France. 

Dumas  writes  of  Beaucaire,  of  Bellegarde,  of 
Aries,  and  of  Aigues-Mortes,  but  not  very  affec- 
tionately ;  indeed,  he  seems  to  think  all  Provence 
"  an  arid,  sterile  lake,"  but  he  comes  out  strong  on 
the  beauty  of  the  women  of  Aries,  and  marvels 
how  they  can  live  in  the  vicinity  of  the  devastating 
fevers  of  the  Camargue. 

The  auberge  of  the  Pont  du  Garde  itself  —  the 
establishment  kept  by  the  old  tailor,  Caderousse, 
whom  Dantes  sought  out  after  his  escape  from  the 
Chateau  d'lf  —  the  author  describes  thus: 

"  Such  of  my  readers  as  have  made  a  pedestrian 
excursion  to  the  south  of  France  may  perchance 
have  noticed,  midway  between  the  town  of  Beau- 
caire and  the  village  of  Bellegarde,  a  small  roadside 
inn,  from  the  front  of  which  hung,  creaking  and 


348  Dumas'  Paris 

flapping  in  the  wind,  a  sheet  of  tin  covered  with  a 
caricature  resemblance  of  the  Pont  du  Gard.  This 
modem  place  of  entertainment  stood  on  the  left- 
hand  side  of  the  grand  route,  turning  its  back  upon 
the  Rhone.  It  also  boasted  of  what  in  Languedoc 
is  styled  a  garden,  consisting  of  a  small  plot  of 
ground,  a  full  view  of  which  might  be  obtained  from 
a  door  immediately  opposite  the  grand  portal  by 
which  travellers  were  ushered  in  to  partake  of  the 
hospitality  of  mine  host  of  the  Pont  du  Gard.  This 
plaisance  or  garden,  scorched  up  beneath  the  ardent 
sun  of  a  latitude  of  thirty  degrees,  permitted  nothing 
to  thrive  or  scarcely  live  in  its  arid  soil.  A  few 
dingy  olives  and  stunted  fig-trees  struggled  hard 
for  existence,  but  their  withered,  dusty  foliage 
abundantly  proved  how  unequal  was  the  conflict. 
Between  these  sickly  shrubs  grew  a  scanty  supply 
of  garlic,  tomatoes,  and  eschalots;  while,  lone  and 
solitary,  like  a  forgotten  sentinel,  a  tall  pine  raised 
its  melancholy  head  in  one  of  the  corners  of  this 
unattractive  spot,  and  displayed  its  flexible  stem 
and  fan-shaped  summit  dried  and  cracked  by  the 
withering  influence  of  the  mistral,  that  scourge  of 
Provence." 

The  great  fair  of  Beaucaire  was,  and  is,  —  though 
Beaucaire  has  become  a  decrepit,  tumble-down  river 


Xtbe  ffrencb  provinces  349 

town  on  the  Rhone,  with  a  ruined  castle  as  its  chief 
attraction,  —  renowned  throughout  France. 

It  was  here  that  the  head  of  the  house  of  Morrel, 
fearing  lest  the  report  of  his  financial  distress  should 
get  bruited  abroad  at  Marseilles,  came  to  sell  his 
wife's  and  daughter's  jewels,  and  a  portion  of  his 
plate. 

This  fair  of  Beaucaire  attracted  a  great  number 
of  merchants  of  all  branches  of  trade,  who  arrived 
by  water  and  by  road,  lining  the  banks  of  the  Rhone 
from  Aries  to  Beaucaire,  and  its  transpontine  neigh- 
bour, Tarascon,  which  Daudet  has  made  famous. 

Caderousse,  the  innkeeper,  visited  this  fair,  as 
we  learn,  "  in  company  with  a  man  who  was  evi- 
dently a  stranger  to  the  south  of  France;  one  of 
those  merchants  who  come  to  sell  jewelry  at  the 
fair  of  Beaucaire,  and  who,  during  the  month  the 
fair  lasts,  and  during  which  there  is  so  great  an 
influx  of  merchants  and  customers  from  all  parts 
of  Europe,  often  have  dealings  to  the  amount  of 
one  hundred  thousand  to  one  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  francs  (£4,000  to  £6,000)." 

That  Dumas  was  a  great  traveller  is  well  known 
and  substantiated  by  the  records  he  has  left. 

When  living  at  Toulon  in  the  spring  of  1835,  as 
he  himself  tells  us,  he  first  came  into  possession  of 


3SO  2)uma6'  lPati0 

the  facts  which  led  to  the  construction  of  "  Gabriel 
Lambert/' 

There  was  doubtless  much  of  truth  in  the  tale, 
which  appears  not  to  be  generally  known  to  English 
readers,  and  it  is  more  than  probable  that  much  of 
the  incident  was  originally  related  to  Dumas  by  the 
"  governor  of  the  port." 

Dumas  was  living  at  the  time  in  a  "  small  sub- 
urban house,"  within  a  stone's  throw  of  Fort 
Lamalge,  the  prison,  hard  at  work  on  his  play  of 
"Captain  Paul" — though,  as  he  says,  he  was  greatly 
abstracted  from  work  by  the  "  contemplation  of  the 
blue  Mediterranean  spangled  with  gold,  the  moun- 
tains that  blind  in  their  awful  nakedness,  and  of 
the  sky  impressive  in  its  depth  and  clearness." 

The  result  of  it  all  was  that,  instead  of  working 
at  "  Captain  Paul  "  (Paul  Jones),  he  left  off  work- 
ing at  all,  in  the  daytime,  —  no  infrequent  occur- 
rence among  authors,  —  and,  through  his  acquaint- 
ance with  the  governor,  evolved  the  story  of  the  life- 
history  of  "  Gabriel  Lambert." 

"  Murat "  was  the  single-worded  title  given  by 
Dumas  to  what  is  perhaps  the  most  subtle  of  the 
"  Crimes  Celebres."  He  drew  his  figures,  of  course, 
from  history,  and  from  a  comparatively  near  view- 


XTbe  jfrencb  provinces  351 

point,  considering  that  but  twenty-five  years  had 
elapsed  since  the  death  of  his  subject. 

Marseilles,  Provence,  Hyeres,  Toulon,  and  others 
of  those  charming  towns  and  cities  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean shore,  including  also  Corsica,  form  the  rapid 
itinerary  of  the  first  pages. 

For  the  action  itself,  it  resembles  nothing  which 
has  gone  before,  or  which  is  so  very  horrible.  It 
simply  recounts  the  adventures  and  incidents  in  the 
life  of  the  Marshal  of  France  which  befel  his  later 
years,  and  which  culminated  in  his  decapitated  head 
being  brought  before  the  King  of  Naples  as  the 
only  assurance  which  would  satisfy  him  that  Murat 
was  not  an  adventurer  and  intriguer. 

There  is  a  pleasant  little  town  in  the  Midi  of 
France  by  the  name  of  Cahors.  It  is  a  historic 
town  as  well;  in  fact,  it  was  part  of  the  dowry 
which!  Henri  de  Navarre  was  to  receive  when  he 
married  Marguerite. 

The  circumstance  is  recounted  by  Dumas  in  "  The 
Forty-Five  Guardsmen,"  and  extends  to  some  length 
in  the  most  marvellously  descriptive  dialogue. 

"  The  poor  Henri  de  Navarre,"  as  Dumas  called 
him,  "  was  to  receive  as  his  wife's  dowry  three 
hundred  thousand  golden  crowns  and  some  towns, 
among  them  Cahors. 

"  *  A  pretty  town,  mordieu!  * 


352  H)uma0'  lPat(0 

"  *  I  have  claimed  not  the  money,  but  Cahors.' 

"  *  You  would  much  like  to  hold  Cahors,  Sire?  * 

"  *  Doubtless;  for,  after  all,  what  is  my  princi- 
pality of  Beam  ?  A  poor  little  place,  clipped  by  the 
avarice  of  my  mother-in-law  and  brother-in-law/ 

"  '  While  Cahors  — ' 

"  *  Cahors  would  be  my  rampart,  the  safeguard 
of  my  religion/ 

"  '  Well,  Sire,  go  into  mourning  for  Cahors ;  for, 
whether  you  break  with  Madame  Marguerite  or 
not,  the  King  of  France  will  never  give  it  to  you, 
and  unless  you  take  it  — ' 

"  *  Oh,  I  would  soon  take  it,  if  it  was  not  so 
strong,  and,  above  all,  if  I  did  not  hate  war/ 

"  *  Cahors  is  impregnable.  Sire/ 

"  *  Oh !  impregnable !  But  if  I  had  an  army, 
which  I  have  not  — ' 

"  *  Listen,  Sire.  We  are  not  here  to  flatter  each 
other.  To  take  Cahors,  which  is  held  by  M.  de 
Vezin,  one  must  be  a  Hannibal  or  a  Caesar;  and 
your  Majesty  — ' 

"  '  Well  ?  '  said  Henri,  with  a  smile. 

"  '  Has  just  said  you  do  not  like  war.'  .  .  . 

"  *  Cahors  is  so  well  guarded,  because  it  is  the 
key  of  the  south/  " 

Chapter  fifty-three  of  the  above  book  recounts 
the  siege  itself,  —  as  we  know  it  in  history,  —  but 


Ubc  ffrencb  provinces  353 

with  all  that  added  picturesqueness  which  Dumas 
commanded. 

"  *  Henri  will  not  pay  me  his  sister's  dowry,  and 
Margot  cries  out  for  her  dear  Cahors.  One  must 
do  what  one's  wife  wants,  for  peace's  sake;  there- 
fore I  am  going  to  try  to  take  Cahors.'  .  .  . 

"  Henri  set  off  at  full  gallop,  and  Chicot  followed 
him.  On  arriving  in  front  of  his  little  army,  Henri 
raised  his  visor,  and  cried : 

"  *  Out  with  the  banner!  out  with  the  new 
banner ! ' 

"  They  drew  forth  the  banner,  which  had  the 
double  scutcheon  of  Navarre  and  Bourbon;  it  was 
white,  and  had  chains  of  gold  on  one  side,  and 
fleurs-de-lis  on  the  other. 

"  Again  the  cannon  from  Cahors  were  fired,  and 
the  balls  tore  through  a  file  of  infantry  near  the 
king.  .  .  . 

"  '  Oh ! '  cried  M.  de  Turenne,  *  the  siege  of  the 
city  is  over,  Vezin.'  And  as  he  spoke  he  fired  at 
him  and  wounded  him  in  the  arm.'  .  .  . 

"  *  You  are  wrong,  Turenne,'  cried  M.  de  Vezin ; 
*  there  are  twenty  sieges  in  Cahors ;  so,  if  one  is 
over,  there  are  nineteen  to  come.' 

"  M.  de  Vezin  defended  himself  during  five  days 
and  nights  from  street  to  street  and  from  house  to 
house.    Luckily  for  the  rising  fortunes  of  Henri  of 


354  2)ttma0'  paria 

Navarre,  he  had  counted  too  much  on  the  walls  and 
garrison  of  Cahors,  and  had  neglected  to  send  to 
M.  de  Biron.  .  .  . 

"  During  these  five  days  and  nights,  Henri  com- 
manded like  a  captain  and  fought  like  a  soldier, 
slept  with  his  head  on  a  stone,  and  awoke  sword  in 
hand.  Each  day  they  conquered  a  street  or  a  square, 
which  each  night  the  garrison  tried  to  retake.  On 
the  fourth  night  the  enemy  seemed  willing  to  give 
some  rest  to  the  Protestant  army.  Then  it  was 
Henri  who  attacked  in  his  turn.  He  forced  an 
intrenched  position,  but  it  cost  him  seven  hundred 
men.  M.  de  Turenne  and  nearly  all  the  officers 
were  wounded,  but  the  king  remained  untouched." 

The  Pyrenean  city  of  Pau  is  more  than  once  re- 
ferred to  by  Dumas  in  the  Valois  romances,  as  was 
but  natural,  considering  that  its  ancient  chateau 
was  the  berceau  of  that  Prince  of  Beam  who  later 
married  the  intriguing  Marguerite,  and  became  ulti- 
mately Henri  IV. 

This  fine  old  structure  —  almost  the  only  really 
splendid  historical  monument  of  the  city  —  had  for 
long  been  the  residence  of  the  Kings  of  Navarre; 
was  rebuilt  in  the  fourteenth  century  by  the  brilliant 
Gaston  Phoebus ;  and  enlarged  and  luxuriously  em- 
bellished by  the  beautiful  Marguerite  herself  in  the 


Ube  jfrencb  provinces  35s 

sixteenth  century,  after  she  had  become  la  femme 
de  Henri  d' Albert,  as  her  spouse  was  then  known. 

As  might  be  expected,  Dumas  was  exceedingly- 
familiar  with  the  suburban  topography  of  Paris, 
and  made  frequent  use  of  it  in  his  novels. 

It  is  in  "  The  Count  of  Monte  Cristo,"  however, 
that  this  intimacy  is  best  shown;  possibly  for  the 
reason  that  therein  he  dealt  with  times  less  remote 
than  those  of  the  court  romances  of  the  "  Valois  " 
and  the  "  Capets." 

When  Dantes  comes  to  Paris,  —  as  the  newly 
made  count,  —  he  forthwith  desires  to  be  ensconced 
in  an  establishment  of  his  own.  Dumas  recounts 
the  incident  thus : 

"  *  And  the  cards  I  ordered  to  be  engraved  as 
soon  as  you  knew  the  number  of  the  house  ? ' 

"  *  M.  le  Comte,  it  is  done  already.  I  have  been 
myself  to  the  best  engraver  of  the  Palais  Royal, 
who  did  the  plate  in  my  presence.  The  first  card 
struck  off  was  taken,  according  to  your  orders,  to 
M.  le  Baron  Danglars,  Rue  de  la  Chaussee  d'Antin, 
No.  7.'  .  .  . 

"  As  the  steward  had  said,  the  notary  awaited  him 
in  the  small  salon.  He  was  a  simple-looking  law- 
yer's clerk,  elevated  to  the  extraordinary  dignity 
of  a  provincial  scrivener. 

"  *  You   are  the  notary  empowered  to  sell  the 


35^  Bumaa'  parts 

country-house  that  I  wish  to  purchase,  monsieur?* 
asked  Monte  Cristo. 

"  *  Yes,  M.  le  Comte,'  returned  the  notary. 

"  *  Is  the  deed  of  sale  ready  ?  * 

"  '  Yes,  M.  le  Comte.' 

"  *  Have  you  brought  it?  ' 

"  '  Here  it  is.' 

"  *  Very  well ;  and  where  is  this  house  that  I 
purchase? '  asked  the  count,  carelessly,  addressing 
himself  half  to  Bertuccio,  half  to  the  notary.  The 
steward  made  a  gesture  that  signified,  *  I  do  not 
know.'  The  notary  looked  at  the  count  with'  as- 
tonishment. 

"  *  What ! '  said  he,  *  does  not  M.  le  Comte  know 
where  the  house  he  purchases  is  situated  ?  * 

"  *  No,'  returned  the  count. 

"  *  M.  le  Comte  does  not  know  it  ? ' 

"  *  How  should  I  know  it  ?  I  have  arrived  from 
Cadiz  this  morning.  I  have  never  before  been  at 
Paris :  and  it  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever  even  set 
my  foot  in  France ! ' 

"  *  Ah,  that  is  different ;  the  house  you  purchase 
is  situated  at  Auteuil,  in  the  Rue  de  la  Fontaine, 
No.  28.'    At  these  words  Bertuccio  turned  pale. 

"  *  And  where  is  Auteuil  ?  '  asked  the  count. 

"  '  Close  here,  monsieur,'  replied  the  notary ;    *  a 


Ube  iPtencb  provinces  357 

little  beyond  Passy;  a  charming  situation,  in  the 
heart  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne/ 

"  *  So  near  as  that?  '  said  the  count.  *  But  that 
is  not  in  the  country.  What  made  you  choose  a 
house  at  the  gates  of  Paris,  M.  Bertuccio  ?  ' 

" '  I  ? '  cried  the  steward,  with  a  strange  ex- 
pression. *  M.  le  Comte  did  not  charge  me  to  pur- 
chase this  house.  If  M.  le  Comte  will  recollect  — 
if  he  will  think  — ' 

"  *  Ah,  true,'  observed  Monte  Cristo ;  '  I  recollect 
now.  I  read  the  advertisement  in  one  of  the  papers, 
and  was  tempted  by  the  false  title,  "  a  country- 
house."  ' 

"  *  It  is  not  yet  too  late,'  cried  Bertuccio,  eagerly ; 
'  and  if  your  Excellency  will  entrust  me  with  the 
commission,  I  will  find  you  a  better  at  Enghien,  at 
Fontenay-aux-Roses,  or  at  Bellevue.' 

"  *  Oh,  no,'  returned  Monte  Cristo,  negligently; 
'  since  I  have  this,  I  will  keep  it' 

"  *  And  you  are  quite  right,'  said  the  notary,  who 
feared  to  lose  his  fee.  '  It  is  a  charming  place,  well 
supplied  with  spring- water  and  fine  trees;  a  com- 
fortable habitation,  although  abandoned  for  a  long 
time;  without  reckoning  the  furniture,  which,  al- 
though old,  is  yet  valuable,  now  that  old  things  are 
so  much  sought  after.  I  suppose  M.  le  Comte  has 
the  tastes  of  the  day?'" 


35*  Dumas'  parts 

Whatever  may  have  been  Dumas'  prodigality 
with  regard  to  money  matters  in  his  personal  affairs, 
he  was  evidently  a  good  traveller,  in  the  sense  that 
he  knew  how  to  plan  a  journey  with  the  greatest 
economy. 

One  sees  evidences  of  this  in  the  "  Count  of  Monte 
Cristo,"  where  he  describes  the  journey  of  Madame 
de  Morcerf  from  Paris  to  Marseilles. 

"  *  I  have  made  inquiries,'  said  Albert,  *  respecting 
the  diligences  and  steamboats,  and  my  calculations 
are  made.  You  will  take  your  place  in  the  coupe 
to  Chalons.  You  see,  mother,  I  treat  you  hand- 
somely for  thirty-five  francs.' 

"  Albert  then  took  a  pen,  and  wrote: 

Frs. 

Coup^  to  Chalons,  thirty-five  francs          .        .         -35 
From  Chalons  to  Lyons  you  will  go  on  by  the  steam- 
boat —  six  francs 6 

From  Lyons  to  Avignon  (still  by  steamboat),  sixteen 

francs i6 

From  Avignon  to  Marseilles,  seven  francs        .        .       7 
Expenses  on  the  road,  about  fifty  francs  .        .        .50 

Total    .  114 

" '  Let  us  put  down  120,'  added  Albert,  smiling. 
'You  see  I  am  generous;  am  I  not,  mother?' 
"  '  But  you,  my  poor  child  ?  * 


Zbc  ifrcncb  iProvfncea  359 

"  *  I !  do  you  not  see  I  reserve  eighty  francs  for 
myself?  A  young  man  does  not  require  luxuries; 
besides,  I  know  what  travelling  is.' 

"  *  With  a  post-chaise  and  valet  de  chamhre? '  " 
The  route  is  practicable  even  to-day,  though  prob- 
ably not  at  the  prices  given,  and  one  does  not  go 
by  steamboat  from  Chalons  to  Lyons,  though  he  may 
from  Lyons  to  Avignon. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 
LES  PAYS  Strangers 

y^UMAS  frequently  wandered  afield  for  his 
I  M  mise-en-scene ,  and  with  varying  success; 
from  the  "  Corsican  Brothers/'  which  was 
remarkably  true  to  its  locale,  and  "  La  Tulipe 
Noire/'  which  was  equally  so,  if  we  allow  for  a 
certain  perspective  of  time,  to  "  Le  Capitaine  Pam- 
phile,"  which  in  parts,  at  least,  is  gross  exaggeration 
or  burlesque. 

Once  only,  to  any  great  extent,  did  he  go  to  Ger- 
many for  his  inspirations,  and  then  only  to  German 
legend,  —  where  so  many  others  had  been  before,  — 
and  have  since. 

In  "  Otho  the  Archer  "  is  found  a  repetition  of  the 
Knight  and  Swan  legend  so  familiar  to  all.  It  has 
been  before  —  and  since  —  a  prolific  source  of  sup- 
ply to  authors  of  all  ranks  and  nationalities :  Goethe, 
Schiller,  Hoffman,  Brentano,  Fouque,  Scott,  and 
others. 

The  book  first  appeared  in  1840,  before  even 
360 


%C0  lPai?5  36ttangcr0  361 

"  Monte  Cristo  "  and  "  Les  Trois  Mousquetaires  " 
were  published  as  feuilletons,  and  hence,  whatever 
its  merits  may  be,  it  is  to  be  classed  as  one  of  his 
immature  efforts,  rather  than  as  a  piece  of  pro- 
found romancing. 

The  story  of  adventure,  of  battle,  and  of  love- 
making  is  all  there,  but  his  picture  of  the  scenery 
and  life  of  the  middle  ages  on  the  Rhine  are,  of 
course,  as  purely  imaginary  as  is  the  romantic  back- 
ground of  myth  and  legend. 

Of  all  the  works  dealing  with  foreign  lands, — 
or,  at  least,  foreign  to  his  pen,  —  Dumas'  "  Black 
Tulip  "  will  ever  take  a  preeminent  rank.  Therein 
are  pictures  of  Holland  life  and  of  the  Hollandaise 
which,  like  the  pen-drawings  of  Stevenson  in 
"  Catriona,"  will  live  far  more  vividly  in  the  minds 
of  most  readers  than  volumes  of  mere  dissertation 
written  by  others. 

The  story  opens  with  a  recounting  of  the  tragedy 
of  the  brothers  Cornelius  and  Jacobus  de  Windt, 
which,  though  not  differing  greatly  from  historical 
fact,  is  as  vivid  and  terrible  an  account  of  the  per- 
secutions of  mortal  man  as  any  similar  incident  in 
romance  itself,  of  whatever  age  and  by  whomever 
written. 

Dumas  was  in  Amsterdam,  in  1849,  ^^  the  coro- 
nation of  William  III.,  where  it  has  been  said  — 


362  Dumas'  IParfs 

by  Flotow,  the  composer  —  that  the  king  remarked 
to  Dumas  that  none  of  the  scenes  of  his  romances 
had  as  yet  been  laid  in  the  Netherlands,  and  there- 
upon told  him  what  was  substantially  the  story  of 
"  La  Tulipe  Noire."  This  first  appeared  as  the  prod- 
uct of  Dumas'  hand  and  brain  in  1850. 

This  is  perhaps  more  or  less  a  legendary  account 
of  its  inception;  like  many  another  of  the  reasons 
for  being  of  Dumas'  romances,  but  it  is  sufficiently 
plausible  and  well  authenticated  to  warrant  accept- 
ance, though  it  has  been  said,  too,  that  it  was  to 
Paul  Lacroix  —  **  Bibliophile  Jacob  "  —  that  Dumas 
owed  the  idea  of  the  tale. 

At  all  events,  it  is  a  charming  pen-picture  of 
Holland;  shows  a  wonderful  love  and  knowledge 
of  the  national  flower,  the  tulip,  and  is  one  of  the 
most  popular  of  all  Dumas'  tales,  if  we  except  the 
three  cycles  of  romances,  whose  scenes  and  incidents 
are  based  on  the  history  of  French  court  life. 

Not  for  many  years  did  the  translators  leave  "  La 
Tulipe  Noire "  unnoticed,  and  for  over  a  half- 
century  it  has  enjoyed  a  vogue  which  is  at  least 
comprehensible. 

Its  plot  and  characters  are  most  ingeniously 
and  dextrously  handled,  but  its  greatest  charm  is 
incident  to  the  process  of  evolving  the  famous  black 
tulip  from  among  the  indigenous  varieties  which, 


Xea  pai?0  Btrangera  363 

at  the  time  of  the  scene  of  the  novel,  had  not  g-ot 
beyond  the  brilHantly  variegated  yellows  and  reds. 
From  the  various  stages  of  mauve,  purple,  brown, 
and,  finally,  something  very  nearly  akin  to  black, 
the  flowering  bulb  finally  took  form,  as  first  pre- 
sented to  a  wide-spread  public  by  Dumas. 

The  celebrated  Alphonse  Karr,  a  devoted  lover  of 
flowers,  took  the  trouble  to  make  a  "  romancers' 
garden,"  composed  of  trees  and  flowers  which  con- 
temporary novelists,  finding  the  laws  of  nature  too 
narrow  for  them,  had  described  in  their  books.  This 
imaginary  garden  owed  to  George  Sand  a  blue 
chrysanthemum,  to  Victor  Hugo  a  Bengal  rose 
without  thorns,  to  Balzac  a  climbing  azalea,  to  Jules 
Janin  a  blue  pink,  to  Madame  de  Genlis  a  green 
rose,  to  Eugene  Sue  a  variety  of  cactus  growing 
in  Paris  in  the  open  air,  to  Paul  Feval  a  variety  of 
larch  which  retained  its  leaves  during  winter, 
to  Forgues  a  pretty  little  pink  clematis  which  flour- 
ished around  the  windows  in  the  Latin  quarter,  to 
Rolle  a  scented  camellia,  and  to  Dumas  the  black 
tulip  and  a  white  lotus.  The  black  tulip,  it  may 
be  remarked,  though  unknown  in  Dumas'  day,  has 
now  become  an  accomplished  fact. 

Dumas,  though  not  a  botanist,  had  charming,  if 
not  very  precise,  notions  about  flowers,  —  as  about 
animals,  —  and  to  him  they  doubtless  said : 


364  Dumas'  parts 

"  Nous  sommes  les  filles  du  feu  secret, 
Du  feu  qui  circule  dans  les  veines  de  la  terre ; 
Nous  sommes  les  filles  de  I'aurore  et  de  la  rosde, 
Nous  sommes  les  filles  de  I'air, 
Nous  sommes  les  filles  de  I'eau ; 
Mais  nous  sommes  avant  tout  les  filles  du  ciel." 


Dumas  wandered  much  farther  afield  than  the 
land  of  his  beloved  Valois.  To  Italy,  to  Spain,  to 
Algeria,  to  Corsica,  to  Germany,  and  even  to  Russia. 
Mostly  he  made  use  of  his  experiences  in  his  books 
of  travel,  of  which  "  Les  Impressions  du  Voyage  " 
is  the  chief. 

Who  would  read  the  narrative  of  the  transactions 
which  took  place  in  Russia's  capital  in  the  early 
nineteenth  century,  should  turn  to  "  Les  Memoires 
d'un  Maitre  d'Armes,"  or  "  Dix-huit  Mois  a  St. 
Petersburgh.'*  It  presents  a  picture  of  the  Russian 
life  of  the  time,  in  which  —  the  critics  agree  — 
there  is  but  slight  disguise.  Its  story  —  for  it  is 
confessedly  fiction  —  turns  upon  the  fortunes  of  a 
young  subaltern,  who  played  a  considerable  part  in 
the  conspiracy  of  1825,  and,  it  has  been  said  by  a 
contemporary  writer  of  the  time,  hardly  any  cir- 
cumstance but  the  real  name  of  the  young  man  is 
disgfuised. 

It  is  in  the  main,  or,  at  least,  it  has  for  its  prin- 
cipal incident,  the  story  of  a  political  exile,  and  it 


%CB  iPapa  J6tranget5  3^5 

is  handled  with  Dumas'  vivid  and  consummate  skill, 
which  therein  proves  again  that  the  mere  romancist 
had  a  good  deal  of  the  historian  about  him. 

Besides  the  locale  of  "  La  Tulipe  Noire,"  Dumas 
takes  the  action  of  "  The  Forty-Five  Guardsmen  '* 
into  the  Netherlands.  Frangois,  the  Due  d'Anjou, 
had  entered  Belgium  and  had  been  elected  Due  de 
Brabant,  Sovereign  Prince  of  Flanders.  At  this 
time  it  was  supposed  that  Elizabeth  of  England 
saw  the  opportunity  of  reuniting  the  Calvinists  of 
Flanders  and  France  with  those  of  England,  and 
so  acquire  a  triple  crown.  Then  follows  an  account 
of  the  attack  on  Antwerp,  which  resulted  in  final 
defeat  of  the  French,  and  presents  one  of  the  most 
graphic  descriptions  of  a  battle  to  be  found  in 
the  pages  of  Dumas.  The  historic  incident  of  the 
interview  in  Due  Frangois'  tent,  between  that 
worthy  and  the  French  Admiral  de  Joyeuse,  is 
made  much  of  by  Dumas,  and  presents  a  most 
picturesque  account  of  this  bloody  battle.  The 
topography  of  Antwerp  and  the  country  around 
about  is  as  graphic  as  a  would-be  painting. 

"  *  But,'  cried  the  prince,  *  I  must  settle  my  posi- 
tion in  the  country.  I  am  Duke  of  Brabant  and 
Count  of  Flanders,  in  name,  and  I  must  be  so  in 
reality.  This  William,  who  is  gone  I  know  not 
where,  spoke  to  me  of  a  kingdom.     Where  is  this 


366  Dumas'  Paris 

kingdom?  —  in  Antwerp.  Where  is  he?  —  prob- 
ably in  Antwerp  also ;  therefore  we  must  take  Ant- 
werp, and  we  shall  know  how  we  stand.* 

"  *  Oh !  monseigneur,  you  know  it  now,  or  you 
are,  in  truth,  a  worse  politician  than  I  thought  you. 
Who  counselled  you  to  take  Antwerp?  —  the  Prince 
of  Orange.  Who  disappeared  at  the  moment  of  tak- 
ing the  field  ?  —  the  Prince  of  Orange.  Who,  while 
he  made  your  Highness  Duke  of  Brabant,  reserved 
for  himself  the  lieutenant-generalship  of  the  duchy  ? 

—  the  Prince  of  Orange.  Whose  interest  is  it  to 
ruin  the  Spaniards  by  you,  and  you  by  the  Span- 
iards?—  the  Prince  of  Orange.  Who  will  replace 
you,  who  will  succeed,  if  he  does  not  do  so  already? 

—  the  Prince  of  Orange.  Oh!  monseigneur,  in 
following  his  counsels  you  have  but  annoyed  the 
Flemings.  Let  a  reverse  come,  and  all  those  who  do 
not  dare  to  look  you  now  in  the  face,  will  run  after 
you  like  those  timid  dogs  who  run  after  those  who 
fly.' 

"  *  What !  you  imagine  that  I  can  be  beaten,  by 
wool-merchants  and  beer-drinkers?' 

"  *  These  wool-merchants  and  these  beer-drinkers 
have  given  plenty  to  do  to  Philippe  de  Valois,  the 
Emperor  Charles  V.,  and  Philippe  II.,  who  were 
three  princes  placed  sufficiently  high,  monseigneur, 
for  the  comparison  not  to  be  disagreeable  to  you.'  " 


%CB  pai?5  lEtrangets  367 

In  "  Pascal  Bruno,"  Dumas  launched  into  a  story 
of  Sicilian  brigandage,  which  has  scarce  been 
equalled,  unless  it  were  in  his  two  other  tales  of 
similar  purport  — "  Cherubino  et  Celestine,"  and 
"  Maitre  Adam  le  Calabrais." 

Originally  it  formed  one  of  a  series  which  were 
published  in  one  volume  —  in  1838  —  under  the 
title  of  "La  Salle  d'Armes,  Pauline,  et  Pascal 
Bruno." 

According  to  the  "  Memoires,"  a  favourite  ren- 
dezvous of  Dumas  in  Paris,  at  this  period,  was 
Grisier's  fencing-room.  There  it  was  that  the  maitre 
d^armes  handed  him  the  manuscript  entitled  "  Eight- 
teen  Months  at  St.  Petersburg,"  —  that  remarkable 
account  of  a  Russian  exile,  —  and  it  is  there  that 
Dumas  would  have  his  readers  to  believe  that  he 
collected  the  materials  for  "  Pauline  "  and  "  Murat." 

The  great  attraction  of  "  The  Corsican  Brothers  " 
lies  not  so  much  with  Corsica,  the  home  of  the 
vendetta^  the  land  of  Napoleon,  and  latterly  known 
politically  as  the  86me  Departement  de  France,  as 
with  the  events  which  so  closely  and  strenuously 
encircled  the  lives  of  the  brothers  De  Franchi  in 
Paris  itself. 

Corsican  life  and  topography  is  limned,  however, 
with  a  fidelity  which  has  too  often  been  lacking  In 
Dumas'  description  of  foreign  parts.     Perhaps,  as 


368  Dumas'  Iparis 

has  been  said  before,  he  extracted  this  information 
from  others ;  but  more  Hkely  —  it  seems  to  the 
writer  —  it  came  from  his  own  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  that  island,  as  it  is  known  that  he 
was  a  visitor  there  in  1834. 

If  this  surmise  be  correct,  the  tale  was  a  long 
time  in  taking  shape,  —  an  unusually  long  time  for 
Dumas,  —  as  the  book  did  not  appear  until  1845, 
the  same  year  as  the  appearance  of  "  Monte  Cristo  " 
in  book  form. 

It  was  dedicated  to  Prosper  Merimee,  whose 
"  Colomba  "  ranks  as  its  equal  as  a  thrilling  tale 
of  Corsican  life. 

It  has  been  remarked  that,  curiously  enough,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  the  story  has  been  so  often 
dramatized  and  adapted  for  the  stage,  —  and  acted 
by  persons  of  all  shades  and  grades  of  ability,  — 
Dumas  never  thought  well  enough  of  it  to  have 
given  it  that  turn  himself. 

Dumas*  acquaintance  with  Naples  ne\^er  pro- 
duced any  more  lucid  paragraphs  descriptive  of 
character,  and  the  local  colour  and  scenic  efifect 
besides,  than  in  the  few  short  pages  of  "  Les  Pe- 
cheurs  du  Filet."  It  comes,  of  course,  as  a  result 
of  Dumas*  rather  extended  sojourn  in  Italy. 

When  Dumas  actually  did  write  scenic  descrip- 
tions, they  were  exceedingly  graphic,  —  though  not 


%CB  paps  Btrangers  369 

verbose,  —  and  exceedingly  picturesque,  —  though 
not  sentimental,  —  as  witness  the  following  lines 
which  open  the  tale  —  though  he  does  make  use  a 
little  farther  on  of  the  now  trite  tag,  "  See  Naples 
and  die." 

"  Every  morning  on  awakening  I  was  in  the 
habit  of  resting  my  elbows  on  the  window-sill  and 
gazing  far  out  over  the  limpid  and  sparkling  mirror 
of  the  Tyrrhenian  Sea.  ...  At  night  the  bay  is  so 
intensely  blue  that,  under  more  favourable  con- 
ditions, it  resembles  those  leaden-hued  lakes,  such 
as  Avemus,  the  Fucine  Lake,  or  Lake  Agnano,  — 
all  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Naples,  which  cover  the 
craters  of  extinct  volcanoes." 

The  story  gives  further  a  wonderful  pen-portrait 
of  Ladislas  I.  of  Hungary,  of  Jerusalem,  and  of 
Sicily,  and  of  the  barbaric  torture  of  "  The  Ques- 
tion," which  was  performed  upon  the  aspiring  lover 
of  Joanna  of  Naples. 

Rome  figures  chiefly  in  "  The  Count  of  Monte 
Cristo,"  wherein  half  a  dozen  chapters  are  devoted 
to  the  "  Eternal  City."  Here  it  is  that  Monte  Cristo 
first  meets  Albert  de  Morcerf,  son  of  one  of  that 
trio  of  enemies  on  whom  the  count  has  sworn  re- 
venge. De  Morcerf,  enjoying  the  pleasures  of  the 
Roman  carnival,  is  captured  by  bandits,  from  whom 
he  is  rescued  by  the  count,  who,  in  saving  the  son. 


370  Buma6'  Paris 

makes  the  first  move  of  vengeance  against  the 
father. 

Various  interesting  parts  of  Rome  are  described 
and  touched  upon,  —  the  Teatro  Argentino,  the 
Colosseum,  the  Plaza  del  Popolo  —  scene  of  the 
public  executions  of  that  time,  —  the  catacombs  of 
San  Sebastian,  and  many  others.  The  character- 
istic and  picturesque  manners  and  customs  of  the 
Romans,  from  noblesse  to  peasants,  are  set  down 
here  in  vivid  and  graphic  style;  and  it  is  clearly 
plain  that  when  Dumas  sojourned  in  Rome  he  "  did 
as  the  Romans  do." 

Dumas'  familiarity  with  Switzerland  was  no 
greater  or  no  less  than  his  knowledge  of  Spain,  of 
Italy,  of  Russia,  or  of  Corsica.  In  his  volumes  of 
travel,  "  Impressions  du  Voyage,"  are  many  charm- 
ing bits  of  narrative  which  might  well  be  extracted 
and  elaborated  into  what  is  otherwise  known  as 
fiction.  With  regard  to  "  Pauline,"  this  is  exactly 
what  did  happen,  or,  rather,  the  relationship  between 
the  Pauline  of  the  novelette  and  the  Pauline  of  "  La 
Voyage  en  Suisse"  is  one  based  upon  a  common 
parentage. 

Switzerland  early  attracted  Dumas'  attention. 
He  took  his  first  tour  in  the  cantons  in  1832,  partly 
as  a  means  of  convalescing  from  a  severe  illness, 
and  partly  because  he  was  in  danger  of  arrest  for 


%cs  pa^0  36tranaet0  371 

the  too  active  part  taken  by  him  in  the  public  funeral 
of  General  Lamarque  and  the  riots  that  followed. 
No  sooner  was  Dumas  en  route  than  the  leaves  of 
his  note-book  were  torn  asunder  and  despatched 
forthwith  to  the  then  newly  founded  Revue  des 
Deux  Mondes. 

At  Fliielen,  that  high  Alpine  pass,  the  mysterious 
veiled  Pauline  de  Meulien  and  her  cavalier,  Alfred 

de  N ,  make  their  first  appearance.     One  feels 

intuitively  that  here  are  the  elements  of  a  drama, 
of  which  the  author  will  avail  himself  before  long. 
The  voyages  continue,  however,  and  the  veiled  lady 
fails  to  reappear  until  the  end  of  the  journey,  when 
another  transitory  glimpse  of  her  is  had  at  Pfeffers. 

This  Pauline's  adventures  evidently  demanded 
more  space  than  the  travels  could  afford,  and  became 
ultimately  a  novelette. 

"  Pauline "  is  one  of  Dumas'  early  attempts  at 
fiction,  and  is  told  with  originality,  and  a  very 
considerable  skill.  Nearly  twenty  years  after 
"  Pauline  "  was  written,  Dumas  told  us  that  he  met 
the  counterpart  of  the  villain  of  the  story,  Horace 
de  Beuzeval,  who  consigned  the  beautiful  Pauline 
to  a  living  burial  in  the  old  abbey  vault  on  the 
coast  of  Normandy,  near  Trouville. 

Dumas'  pictures  of  Switzerland  are  more  or  less 
conventional;    with  him  the  story  was  the  thing, 


372  Dumas'  pads 

and    the    minutiae    of    stage    setting    but    a    side 
issue. 

In  "  Les  Crimes  Celebres,"  Dumas  goes  back  to 
history,  though  he  sticks  to  France,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  those  deahng  with  the  Borgias  and  Mary- 
Stuart. 

The  crimes  of  the  Borgias  —  and  they  were  many 
—  end  the  series,  though  they  cover  but  the  period 
1492 — 1507.  The  most  unnatural  and  quite  the 
most  despicable  being  the  throwing  into  the  Tiber 
by  Caesar  Borgia  the  cadaver  of  his  brother.  Rome, 
the  Popes,  and  Italy  in  general  form  much  of  the 
venue,  but  the  political  history  of  France,  Spain, 
and  Austria  enter  largely  into  the  movement  of  the 
chronicle,  and  such  widely  separated  towns  of 
France  as  Perpignan,  in  the  Comte  de  Roussillon  in 
the  south,  and  Hesdin,  Etaples,  and  Bethune  in  the 
north,  all  play  their  parts  in  the  political  treaties  of 
the  time. 


THE   END. 


appeuMx  1I* 


DUMAS'  ROMANCES  AND  HISTORICAL  STUDIES  CLASSED 
IN    CHRONOLOGICAL    ORDER 


B.C.    loo  C^sar. 

B.C.   64  Gaule  et  France. 

A.D.  57  Acte. 

740-1425  Les  Hommes  de  Fer. 

740  Pepin. 

748  Charlemagne. 
1076  Guelfes  et  Gibelins. 
1099  Praxede. 
1 1 57  Ivanhoe. 
1162  Le  Prince  de  Voleurs. 
1 162  Robin  Hood. 
1248  Dom  Martins  de  Freytas. 
1 291-1737  Les  Medicis. 
1324-1672  Italiens  et  Flamands. 
1324  Ange  Gaddi. 
1338  La  Comtesse  de  Salisbury. 
1356  Pierre  le  Cruel. 
1385  Monseigneur  Gaston  Phoe- 
bus. 

1388  Le  Batard  de  Mauleon. 

1389  Isabel  de  Baviere. 
1402  Masaccio. 

141 2  Frere  Philippe  Lippi. 
1414  La  Peche  aux  Filets. 
1425  Le  Sire  de  Giac. 
1429  Jehanne  la  Pucelle. 
1433  Charles  le  Temeraire. 
1437   Alexandre  Botticelli. 
1437-1587  Les  Stuarts. 
1446  Le  Perugin. 
1452   Jean  Bellin. 
1470  Quintin  Metzys. 


1474-1576  Trois  Maitres. 
1474-1564  Michel-Ange. 
1477-1576  Titien. 
1483-1520  Raphael. 
1484  Andre  de  Mantegna. 
i486  Leonard  da  Vinci. 
1490  Fra  Bartolommeo. 
1490  Sogliana. 
1492  Le  Pincturiccio. 
1496  Luca  de  Cranach. 

1503  Baldassare  Peruzzi. 

1504  Giorgione. 

1 51 2  Baccio  Bandinelli. 
1512  Andre  del  Sarto. 
1 519  Le  Salteador. 
1523  Jacques  de  Pontormo. 

1530  Jean  Holbein. 

1 531  Razzi. 

1537  Une  Nuit  a  Florence. 
1540  Jules  Remain. 
1540  Ascanio. 
1542  Albert  Durer. 
1 531   Les  Deux  Dianes. 
1553  Henri  IV. 

1555  Le  Page  du  Due  de  Savoie. 
1559  L'Horoscope. 
1572  La  Reine  Margot. 
1578  La  Dame  de  Monsoreau. 
1585  Les  Quarante-Cinq. 
1585  Louis  XIII.  et  Richelieu. 
1619-1825  Les    Drames    de    la 
Mer. 


373 


374 


appcnMx  IF* 


1619  Boutikoe. 
162 1  Un  Courtesan. 
1625  Les  Trois  Mousquetaires. 
1637  La  Colombe. 
1638-1715  Louis   XIV.   et  Son 
Siecle. 

1639  La  Princesse  de  Monaco. 

1640  Guerard  Berck-Heyden. 
1645  Vingt  Ans  Apres. 
1650  La  Guerre  des  Femmes. 
1660  Le  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne. 
1672  Fran9ois  Mieris, 

1672  La  Tulipe  Noire. 

1683  La  Dame  de  Volupte. 

1697  Memoires  d'une  Aveugle. 

1697  Les  Confessions  de  la  Mar- 
quise. 

1703  Les  Deux  Reines. 

1 7 10-17  74  Louis  XV.  et  Sa 
Cour. 

17 1 5-1 723  La  Regence. 

1718  Le  Chevalier  d'Harmental. 

17 19  Une  Fille  du  Regent. 
1729  Olympe  de  Cleves. 
1739  La  Maison  de  Glace. 
1754-1789  Louis     XVI.     et    la 

Revolution. 
1762-1833  Mes  Memoires. 
1 769-182 1   Napoleon. 
1770  Joseph  Balsamo, 
1772  Le  Capitaine  Marion. 
1779  Le  Capitaine  Paul. 

1784  Le  Collier  de  la  Reine. 

1785  Le  Docteur  Mysterieux. 

1788  Ingenue. 

1789  Ange  Pitou. 


1789  Le  Chateau  d'Eppstein. 

1790  La  Comtesse  de  Charny. 

1 791  La  Route  de  Varennes. 

1792  Cecile. 

1793  L^  Chevalier   de  Maison- 

Rouge. 
1793  La  Fille  du  Marquis. 
1793  Blanche  de  Beaulieu. 

1793  Le  Drame  de'  93. 

1794  Les  Blancs  et  les  Bleus. 

1795  La  Junon. 

1798  La  San  Felice. 

1799  Emma  Lyonna. 

1799  Les  Compagnons  de  J^hu. 

1800  Souvenirs  d'une  Favorite. 
1807  Memoires  de  Garibaldi. 
18 1 2  Le  Capitaine  Richard. 

18 1 5  Murat. 

1824  Le  Maitre  d'Armes. 

1825  Le  Kent. 

1831  Les  Louves  de  Machecoul. 
1 838- 1 8 58  Les       Morts      Vont 

Vite. 
1838  Hegesippe  Moreau. 
1842  Le  Due  d'Orleans. 

1848  Chateaubriand. 

1849  La    Derniere    Annee    de 

Marie  Dorval. 
1857  Beranger. 
1857  Eugene  Sue. 
1857  Alfred  de  Musset. 
1857  Achille  Deveria. 

1857  Lefevre-Deumier. 

1858  La  Duchesse  d'Orleans. 
i860  Les  Garibaldiens. 
1866  La  Terreur  Prussienne. 


HppenMx  n. 


DUMAS     ROMANCES,    SKETCHES,    AND   "  NOUVELLES   IN- 
TIMES  "    CLASSED    IN    CHRONOLOGICAL    ORDER 


1469  I?aac  Laquedem. 

1828 

1708  S^  ivandire. 

1828 

1754  Le  Pasteur  d'Ashbourn. 

1829 

1774  Le    Testament   de   M.  de 

1829 

Chauvelin. 

1830 

1780  Le  Meneur  de  Loups. 

1830 

1793  La    Femme  au  Collier  de 

1831 

Velours. 

1831 

1797  Jacques  Qrtis. 

1831 

1799  Souvenirs  d' Antony. 

1831 

1805  Un  Cadet  de  Famille. 

1832 

1806  A  ventures  de  John  Davys. 

1834 

1 8 10  Les     Mariages     du    Pere 

1835 

Olifus. 

183s 

18 10  Le  Trou  de  I'Enfer. 

1838 

181 2  Jane. 

1841 

18 14  Le     Comte     de     Monte- 

1841 

Cristo. 

1842 

18 1 5  Conscience  I'Innocent. 

1846 

1817  Le  Pere  La  Ruine. 

1847 

1824  Georges. 

1856 

1827  Les  Mohicans  de  Paris. 

1856 

1827  Salvator. 

Sultanetta. 

Jacquot  sans  Oreilles. 

Catherine  Blum. 

La  Princesse  Flora. 

Dieu  Dispose. 

La  Boule  de  Neige. 

Le  Capitaine  Pamphile. 

Les  Drames  Galants. 

Le  Fils  du  For9at. 

Les  Mille  et  un  Fantomes. 

Une  Vie  d'Artiste. 

Pauline. 

Fernande. 

Gabriel  Lambert. 

Amaury. 

Les  Freres  Corses. 

Le  Chasseur  de  Sauvagini. 

Black. 

Parisiens  et  Provinciaux. 

L'lle  de  Feu. 

Madame  de  Chamblay. 

Une  Aventure  d'Amour. 


375 


appenMi  IFIFII. 


DUMAS     TRAVELS  CLASSED   IN  CHRONOLOGICAL  ORDER 


1830  Quinze  Jours  au  Sinai. 

1839  La  Vie  au  Desert.  (Afrique 

1832  Suisse. 

meridionale.) 

1834  l.e  Midi  de  la  France. 

1843  L'Arabie  lleureuse 

1835  Une  Annee  a  Florence. 

1846  De  Paris  k  Cadix. 

1835  La  Villa  Palmieri. 

1846  Le  Veloce  (Tanger,  Alger, 

1835  Le  Speronare.     (Sicile.) 

Tunis.) 

1835  Le  Capitaine  Arena. 

1850  Un  Gil  Bias  en  California. 

(Sicile.) 

1853  Un    Pays    Inconnu.     (Ha- 

1835 Le  Corricolo.     (Naples.) 

vana,  Bresil.) 

1838  Excursions   sur   les   Bords 

1858  En  Kussie. 

du  Rhin. 

1858  Le  Caucase. 

1858  Les  Baleiniers. 

376 


Unber 


Abbaye  de  Montmartre,  227. 
Abbey  of  Sl  Denis,  142,  143. 
Abbey   of   St.    Genevieve,    37, 

136,  187,  253. 
Abelard  and  Heloise,  82. 
About,  Edmond,  42,  188. 
Academie  Frangaise,  228. 
Aigues-Mortes,  139,  347. 
Alais,  160. 
Alegres,   D',   224. 
Alengon,  79,  326. 
Algiers,  45. 
Alicante,  159. 
Allee  de  la  Muette,  231. 
Allee    des    Cygnes,    11. 
Alsace  and  Lorraine,  11. 
"  Ambigu,"    The,    54. 
Amsterdam,  361. 
"  An    Englishman    in    Paris  " 

(Vandam).  94,  116. 
"Ange  Pitou,"  see  Works  of 

Dumas. 
Angers,  332-334- 
Angers,   Castle   of.   333. 
Angers,    David    d*,    82. 
Angles,  Count,   151. 
Anjou,    333. 
Anjou,  Due  d*,  365. 
Anne  of  Austria,  115.  266,  289, 

312. 
"Anthony,"     see    Works     of 

Dumas. 
Antwerp,  365. 


Aramis,  45,  49,  246,  247,  252, 
300,  329. 

Aramitz,   Henr}'  d'.   see  Ara- 
mis. 

Arc  de  Triomphe,    147. 

Arc    de    Triomphe    du    Car- 
rousel,  135. 

Arc    de     Triomphe    d'Etoile, 
88,  138,  192. 

Argenteuil.   314. 

Aries,  347,  349. 

Arnault,  Lucien,   18,  71. 

Arras,  49,  324. 

Artagnan,  49. 

Artagnan,     see     D'Artagnan. 

Asnieres,  171. 

Athos,    45,    49,    246-248,    252, 
313- 

Auber.   117. 

"  Au   Fidele  Berger,"  205. 

Augennes,     Jacques     d'.     315. 

Augennes.    Regnault    d',    315. 

"Au      Grand      Roi      Charle- 
magne,"  248. 

Aumale,  D',  323. 

Auteuil,   87. 

Auvergne,  321. 

Auxerre,  159. 

Avedick,  289. 

Avenel,   Georges,   101-103. 

Avenue  de  la  Grande  Armee, 

139- 
Avenue  de  I'Opera,  114,   149, 


377 


378 


irn&ex 


Avenue  de  Villiers,  124. 
Avignon,  359. 

Balzac,  69,  82,  127,  363. 

Barbes,  179. 

Barbizon,  71. 

Barras,  74. 

Barrere,   143. 

Bartholdi's    "Liberty,"    li. 

Bastille,    The,    149,    152,    i73, 

196,  225,  241,  263,  268,  278, 

284-287,  292,  29s,  296. 
Bath,  76. 
Batignolles,  87. 
Batz,  Baron  de,  50. 
Batz  de  Castlemore,  Charles 

de,   see   D'Artagnan. 
Baudry,    129,    151. 
Bauville,  Theodore  de,  51. 
Bavaria,  TJ. 
Beaucaire,  347-349- 
Beaufort,  Duke  of,  289. 
Beausire,  254. 
Belgium,  8,  92,  365. 
Bellegarde,  347. 
Belle  He,  327-329. 
Belleville,  87. 
Bellune,  Due  de,  84. 
Beranger,  3,  68,  71. 
Bercy,  87. 

Bernhardt,   Sara,   191. 
Berry,  Duchesse  de,  152. 
Bertuccio,  328. 
Besangon,  92. 
Bethune,  372. 
Beuzeval,  Horace  de,  371. 
Biard,  224. 
"  Bibliotheque     Royale,"     50, 

131,  135,  253. 
Bicetre,  234. 
Bigelow,  John,    125. 
Billot,  Father,  18,  23,  24. 
"Black  Tulip,"  see  Works  of 

Dumas. 
Blackwood's    Magazine,    257. 
plane,  Louis,  75,  179. 


Blanqui,  179. 

Blois,  155,  246,  330-332. 

Blois,  Chateau  de,  330,  331. 

Bohemia,  95,  96. 

Boieldieu,  82,  153. 

Bois    de    Boulogne,    89,    150, 

192,  231,  298,  319. 
Bois  de  Meudon,  303. 
Bois    de   Vincennes,   89,    147, 

150,  319. 
Boissy,  Adrien  de,  255,  256. 
Bondy,  315. 

Bordeaux,  151,  154,  159,  342. 
Borgias,  The,  372. 
Boulevard    des    Italiens,    92, 

93,  114,  187,  213,  231. 
Boulevard     du     Prince     Eu- 
gene, 140. 
Boulevard      Henri      Quatre, 

285. 
Boulevard  Magenta,  140,  149. 
Boulevard    Malesherbes,    103, 

140,  149. 
Boulevard  Raspail,  252. 
Boulevard     Sevastopol,     140, 

149. 
Boulevard  St.  Denis,  135,  147. 
Boulevard    St.    Germain,    128, 

140,  149,  252. 
Boulevard    St.    Martin,    135, 

147,  149. 
Boulogne,  160. 
Bourges,  155. 
Bourg,  L'Abbe,   130. 
Bourgogne,   105. 
Bourse,  The,  89,  91. 
Brabant,  Due  de,  365. 
Brentano,  360. 
Brest,  90,  91,  160. 
Breteuil,  De,  296. 
Bridges : 

Cahors,  172. 

Lyons,  172. 

Orthos,   172. 

St.  Benezet  d'Avignon,  172. 

See  under  Pont  also. 


Unbex 


379 


Brillat-Savarin,  102,  103. 
Brinvilliers,      Marquise      de, 

286,  287. 
Brionze,  79. 
Brittany,  327,  328. 
Broggi,  Paolo,   118. 
Brown,  Sir  Thomas,   142. 
Brozier,  31. 
Brussels,  44,  'j^. 
"  Bruyere   aux  Loups,"  23. 
Buckingham,    322. 
Buckle,  96. 
Bureau   d'Orleans,  8,  31,   58, 

84,  187. 
Burns,  43. 
Bussy,  333. 

Buttes    Chaumont,    190,    314. 
Byron,  43. 

"  Cachot  de  Marie  Antoi- 
nette," 238. 

Caderousse,  347,  349. 

Caen,  326. 

Cafe  de  Paris,  iii,  187, 
189. 

Cafe  des  Anglais,  118. 

Cafe  du  Roi,  18. 

Cafe  Riche,  118. 

Cagliostro,  295,  296. 

Cahors,  351. 

Cahors,  Bridge  of,   172. 

Calais,  159,  160,  321-324,  327. 

Calcutta,  76. 

Calixtus  IL,  198. 

Cambaceres,  Delphine,  82. 

Canebiere,  The,  342. 

Cantal,  321. 

Capetians,  The,   194. 

"  Capitaine  Pamphile,"  see 
Works  of  Dumas. 

"Capitaine  Paul"  (Paul 
Jones),  see  Works  of  Du- 
mas. 

Carcassonne,   139. 

Carlyle,  69. 

Carmelite  Friary,  246,  252. 


"  Caserne  Napoleon,"  140. 
Caspian  Sea,  The,  44. 
Castle  of  Angers,  ^2)3- 
Castle  of  Pierrefonds,  324. 
Cathedral     de     Notre    Dame 

(Chartres),   329. 
Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame  de 

Rouen,  187. 
"  Catriona  "       (  Stephenson  ) , 

361. 
Caucasus,  8. 
"  Clauseries,"    see    Works    of 

Dumas. 
Caussidiere,    Marc,    178,    179, 
Cavaignac,  General,   179. 
Ceinture     Railway,     89,     303. 
Cenci,  The,  285. 
Chaffault,  De,  46. 
Chalet  de  Monte  Cristo,  see 

Residences  of  Dumas. 
Chalons,  359. 
Chambord,  332. 
Chambre  des  Deputes,  8,  138, 

167,   187. 
Champs  Elysees,  95,  136,  150. 
Changarnier,   General    181. 
Chanlecy,      Charlotte      Anne 

de,  50. 
Chantilly,  297,  298. 
Charenton,  87. 
Charlemagne,   129,  193. 
Charles  I.,  267. 
Charles  VI.,  315,  325. 
Charles  VII.,  131. 
Charles  VIII.,  132. 
Charles    IX.,    133,    212,    217, 

236,  253,  263,  311,  320,  2>2>Z- 
Charles  X.,  156,  270. 
Charles-le-Temeraire,  215. 
Charpillon,  M.,  8. 
Chartres,  329,  330. 
Chartres,  Cathedral  de  Notre 

Dame,  329. 
Chartres,    Due    de    (Philippe 

d'Orleans),  267. 
Chateaubriand,  68,   147. 


38o 


fnt)ex 


Chateau  de  Blois,  330,  331. 
Chateau    d'lf,    45,    339,    340, 

343,  347. 
Chateau  de  Rambouillet,  315. 
Chateau    de    Rocca    Petrella, 

285. 
Chateau    de    Vincennes,    319, 

320. 
Chateau      of      Madrid,     298, 

319. 
Chateau  Neuf,  303,  312,  313. 
Chateaurien,   Rene  de,  319. 
Chatelet     du     Monte     Cristo, 

303. 
Chatillon-sur-Seine,    169. 
Chenier,   Andre,  68,  71. 
Cherbourg,    160. 
"  Cherubino      et      Celestine," 

see  Works  of  Dumas. 
"  Cheval   de  Bronze,"   172. 
"Chevalier     d'Harmental," 

see  Works  of  Dumas. 
"Chicot     the     Jester"      (La 

Dame  de  Monsoreau"),  see 

Works  of  Dumas. 
Childebert,   129,   212. 
Childerie,   129. 
Chopin,  82. 

Christine  of  Sweden,  123. 
Churches,   see  under  figlise. 
Cimetiere  des  Innocents,  197, 

221. 
Cimetiere  Pere  la  Chaise,  see 

Pere  la  Chaise. 
Cinq-Mars,  224. 
Civil  War,  The,  50. 
Claremont,    180. 
Clement-Thomas,   Gen.,  227. 
Clovis,  129. 
"  Clymnestre,"    19. 
"Coches  d'Eau,"  156. 
Coconnas,    173. 
Coligny,  260. 
Coligny,   fils,  224. 
College   des   Quatre    Nations, 

135,   173. 


"  Colomba,"  368. 
Colonne   de   Juillet,   88. 
Comedie  Frangaise,  190. 
"  Commission      des      Monu^ 

ments   Historiques,"    278. 
"  Commission       du        Vieux 

Paris,"  193. 
Commune,  The,  185,  192,  196, 

227,  263,  264. 
"  Compagnie      Generale      des 

Omnibus,"    153. 
Compiegne,    24,   46,   246,   286, 

297,  298,  317-319. 
"  Comtesse    de    Charny,"    see 

Works  of  Dumas. 
Conciergerie,     92,     236,     238, 

240,    241,    263,    286. 
Conde,  224,  320. 
Conflans-Charenton,    171. 
Contades,  Count  G.  de,  79. 
Conti,  Prince  de,  90. 
Corneille,  224. 
Corot,  72,  72,,   191- 
Corsica,  8,  337,  35 1,  367. 
"  Corsican       Brothers,"      see 

Works  of  Dumas. 
Cosne,  155. 

Couloir   St.   Hyacinthe,  228. 
Courbevoie,  314. 
Cour  du  Justice,  241. 
"  Count    of     Monte     Cristo," 

see   Works   of   Dumas. 
Cours  la  Reine,  133. 
Crepy-en-Valois,    15,    16,    24, 

46,  83,  315,  317,  318,  321. 
"  Crimes  Celeb  res  "      ("  Cele- 
brated       Crimes"),        see 

Works  of  Dumas. 
Cul-de-sac      des      Marchands 

des  Chevaux,  286. 
"  Cyrano  de  Bergerac,"  43.   • 

Dammartin,   16,  24,  317. 
Damploux,  24. 

Danglars,     Baron,     109,    231, 
261. 


tn^cx 


381 


Dantes,    229,    231,    328,    344. 

346,  347,  355. 
Darnley,  324. 
Daubonne,  214. 
Daudet,  3,  349- 
David,  82. 

"David  Copperfield,"  34. 
D'Alegres,  The,  224. 
D' Angers,  David,  82. 
D'Anjou,  Due,  365. 
D'Aramitz,   Henry,   see  Ara- 

mis. 
D'Artagnan,     45,    48-50»     5^, 

127,  200,  201,  206,  214,  223, 

225,  245-247,  252,  267,  313, 

328,  329. 
D'Artagnan    Romances,    148, 

171,  195,  205,  215,  225,  235, 

247,  254,  266,  312,  330,  331- 
D'Augennes,  Jacques,  315. 
D'Augennes,   Regnault,   315. 
D'Aumale,  323. 
De  Batz,  Baron,  50. 
De      Batz      de      Castlemore, 

Charles,    see    D'Artagnan. 
De  Bauville,  Theodore,  51. 
De  Bellune,  Due,  84. 
De  Berry,  Duchesse,  152. 
De  Beuzeval,  Horace,  371. 
De  Boissy,  Adrien,  255,  256. 
De  Brabant,  Due,  365. 
De  Breteuil,  296. 
De     Brinvilliers,      Marquise, 

286,  287. 
De  Chaffault,  46. 
De  Chanlecy,  Charlotte  Anne, 

50. 
De   Chartres,   Due    (Philippe 

d'Orleans),  267. 
De  Chateaurien,  Rene,  319. 
De  Contades,  Count  G.,  79. 
De  Conti,  Prince,  90. 
D'Enghien,  Due,  320. 
D'Estrees,  Gabrielle,  228,  260. 
De  Flesselles,  196. 
De  France,  Henriette,  267. 


De    Franchi,    213,    232,    255, 

367. 
De  Franchi,  Louis,  319. 
De  Genlis,  Madame,  363. 
De  Guise,  Cardinal,  323. 
De  Guise,  Due,  224,  253,  278, 

301,  323. 
De  Guise,  Duchesse,  122,  323. 
De  Jallais,  Amedee,  232. 
De  Joyeuse,  Admiral,  365. 
De  la  Mole,  212. 
De   la   Motte,   Madame,   228, 

241,  307. 
De  Launay,  284. 
De  Leuven,  Adolphe,   14,  16, 

18. 
De    Lesdequieres,    Duchesse, 

293- 
De      Longueville,      Madame, 

224. 
De   Marsillac,    Prince,  90. 
De  Mauge,  Marquis,  214. 
De  Maupassant,  Guy,  228. 
De   Medici,    Marie,    133,   224, 

260. 
De    Medici,    Catherine,    208, 

212,  264. 
De  Merle,  18. 
De    Meulien,    Pauline,   371. 
De  Montford,  Comtes,  315. 
De  Montmorenci,  Due,  255. 
De  Montpensier,  Due,  45. 
De  Morcerf,  Albert,  369. 
De  Morcerf,  Madame,  358. 
De  Musset,  Alfred,  68,  82,  95, 

123. 
De  Nemours,  M.,  323. 
De  Nerval,  Gerard,   123. 
De  Nevers,  Duchesse,   197. 
D'Orleans,  Louis,  324. 
De  Poissy,  Gerard,  130, 
De   Poitiers,   Diane,  260, 
De  Portu,  Jean,  see  Porthos. 
De  Retz,  Cardinal,  320. 
De   Richelieu,    see   Richelieu. 
De  Rohan,  37,  224. 


382 


fn^et 


De    Sevigne,    Madame,    102, 

223. 
De  Sillegue,  Colonel,  49. 
De     Sillegue     d'Athos,     Ar- 

mand,  see  Athos. 
De   Sorbonne,  Robert,  244. 
De  Ste.  Croix,  Gaudin,  286. 
De  Talleyrand,  Henri,  214. 
De  Treville,  49,  246,  251. 
De  Valois,  see  under  Valois. 
De  Vigny,  68. 
De  Villefort,  261,  340. 
De  Villemessant,  52. 
De  Volterre,  Ricciarelli,  224. 
De  Wardes,  322. 
De   Windt,   Cornelius,   361. 
De  Windt,  Jacobus,  361. 
De  Winter,  Lady,  223. 
Debret,  117. 
Decamps,  191. 
Delacroix,  73,  82,  97,  191. 
Delavigne,   18,  82. 
Delrien,   18. 

Demidoff,    Prince,    189. 
"Dernier     Jour     d'un     Con- 

damne,"  239. 
Desaugiers,  31. 
Desbordes- Valmore,    Ma- 
dame, 70. 
Descamps,  Gabriel,  221. 
Desmoulins,  Camille,  268. 
Dibdin,    150. 
Dickens,   Charles,  34. 
"  Dictionnaire     de     Cuisine," 

see  Works  of  Dumas. 
Dieppe,  8,  66. 
"Director  of  Evacuations  at 

Naples,"  45,  57. 
"Dix-huit    Mois    a    St.    Pe- 

tersburgh,"    see   Works   of 

Dumas. 
Don   Quixote,   245. 
Dore,  Gustave,  123,  140,  149. 
Douai,  49. 
Dover,  154,  322. 
Drapeau  Blanc,  31. 


Ducercen,  313. 
Ducis,  121. 

Dujarrier-Beauvallon,    75-77. 
Dumas : 
Monuments   to,   see   under 

Monuments. 
Residences    of,    see    under 

Residences. 
Title  of,  see  under  Title. 
Travels      of,      see      under 

Travels. 
Works      of,      see      under 
Works. 
Dumas,  General,  Marquis  de 

la   Pailleterie,  26,  27,  47. 
Dumas,  fils,  64,  66,  67,  75,  78, 

79,  81,  121,  124. 
Duprez,  117. 

ficole  des  Beaux  Arts,  244. 
ficole  de  Droit,  136,  183,  244. 
ficole  de  Medicine,  244. 
"ficole    des    Viellards,"    18. 
ficole  Militaire,  136. 
Edict  of  Nantes,  334. 
figlise   de   la   Madeleine,   88, 

138,  149,  153- 
figlise    de    Notre    Dame,   86, 

129,  167,  198,  23s,  263,  286. 
figlise  de  St.  Gervais,  132. 
figlise  de  St.  Merry,  132. 
figlise    de    St.    Paul    et    St. 

Louis,  133. 
figlise  St.  Etienne  du  Mont, 

167,  253,  254. 
figlise  St.  Eustache,  192. 
figlise   St.   Germain  I'Auxer- 

rois,  132,  212,  260. 
figlise     St.     Innocents,     142, 

144,  223. 
figlise  St.  Jacques,  198. 
figlise  St.  Roch,  134. 
figlise  St.  Severin,  167. 
figlise  St.   Sulpice,   167. 
"Eighteen     Months     at     St. 

Petersburg,"  367. 


fn&ex 


383 


Elba,  25,  219,  337. 
Elizabeth,   365. 
Elysee,  The,  25,  103. 
Enghien,  Due  d',  320. 
England,  8,  50. 
Epinac,   160. 
Ermenonville,  24. 
Esplanade  des  Invalides,  150. 
Estaminet  du  Divan,  118. 
Estrees,     Gabrielle     d',     228, 

260. 
Etaples,  372. 

"Fabrique  des  Romans,"  38. 
Falaise,  326. 

Faubourg  St.  Denis,  220. 
Faubourg    St.    Germain,    83, 

132. 
Faubourg  St.  Honore,  83. 
Fernand,  261. 
Ferry,   Gabriel,   233. 
Feval,  Paul,  363. 
Figaro,  The,  52. 
Flanders,  321. 
Flaubert,    Gustave,    77. 
Flesselles,  De,  196. 
Fleury,  General,  76. 
Florence,  115. 
Fontainebleau,   155,  297,  298, 

300,  302,  303,  315. 
Fontaine  des  Innocents,   145, 

187,  193,  222. 
Foret     de     Compiegne,    318, 

319. 
Foret  de  TAigue,  286. 
Forgues,   363. 
Fort  de  Vincennes,  320. 
Fort  Lamalge,  350. 
"  Forty  -  Five      Guardsmen," 

see  Works  of  Dumas. 
Fosses  de  la  Bastille,   137. 
Fouque,  360. 
Fouquet,   199,   289,   298,   300, 

320. 
Foy,  General,  31,  82,  84. 
France,  Henriette  de,  267. 


Franchi,   De,   213,   232,   255, 

367. 
Franchi,  Louis  de,  319. 
Francis,   18. 
Frangois  L,  I3i-I34»  I44,  I97» 

198,  260,  313. 
Franco- Prussian     War,      57, 

164,   192. 
Fronde,  89. 


"Gabriel       Lambert,"       see 

Works   of   Dumas. 
Gaillardet,    238. 
Gare  de  I'Est,  162. 
Gare  du  Nord,  162. 
Gare  St.  Lazare,  161. 
Garibaldi,  37. 
Garnier,   190, 
Gascony,  50. 
Gaston  of  Orleans,  331. 
Gautier,  68,  71,  72,  123. 
Gay,  Mme.  Delphine,  70. 
Genlis,  Madame  de,  363. 
"  Georges,"     see     Works    of 

Dumas. 
Germany,  8,  360. 
Girondins,  The,  194. 
Glinel,  Charles,  26. 
Godot,   151. 
Goethe,  68,  360. 
"Golden  Lion,"  316. 
Gondeville,  24. 
Gouffe,  Armand,  31. 
Goujon,  Jean,    132,  223,  260. 
Granger,  Marie,  327. 
Grenelle,  95. 
Grisier,  75,  367. 
"Guido    et    Genevra "    (Ha- 

levy),  54. 
Guilbert,  205. 
Guise,    Cardinal   de,  323, 
Guise,  Due  de,  224,  253,  278, 

301,  323. 
Guise,  Duchesse  de,  122,  323. 
Guizot,  69. 


ZH 


fn^ci 


Halevy,  54,  70,  117. 
Hamerton,     Philip     Gilbert, 

168. 
Hamilton,  324. 
"Hamlet,"   121. 
Haramont,  23. 
Hautes- Pyrenees,  49. 
Havre,     150,     160,     169,    179, 

180,  326. 
Henri   L,  323. 
Henri  H.,  132,  172,  303,  312, 

323. 
Henri  HI.,  122,  133,  172,  323, 

333. 
Henri  IV.,  133,  I34,  H3,  217, 

224,  235,  236,  260,  303,  312, 

320,  323,  351,  354- 
Henri  V.,  181. 
"Henri    HI.    et    Sa    Cour," 

see  Works  of  Dumas. 
"Hernani,"   122. 
Herold,  82. 
Hesdin,   372, 
"  Histoire    de    Jules    Cesar " 

(Napoleon  HI.),  73. 
"  Histoire     des     Prisons     de 

Paris,"  238. 
"  History     of      Civilization " 

(Buckle),  96. 
Hoffman,  360. 
Honfleur,  169,  179. 
Hopital  des  Petites  Maisons, 

132. 
Hopital    du    St.    Jacques    du 

Haut  Pas,  133. 
Hotel  Boulainvilliers,  228. 
Hotel    Chevreuse,     127,     128, 

252. 
Hotel  D'Artagnan,  214. 
Hotel     de     Bourgogne,     133, 

215. 
Hotel  de  Choiseul,  115. 
Hotel  de  Cluny,  167. 
Hotel  de  Coligny,  278. 
Hotel     de     Due     de     Guise, 

278. 


Hotel  de  France,  248. 
Hotel  des  Invalidcs,  135,  149, 

167. 
"Hotel    de   la   Belle   Etoile," 

208,  212. 
Hotel    de    la    Monnaie,    136, 

248. 
Hotel  de  Louvre,  102, 
Hotel  de  MerccEur,  266. 
Hotel     des      Montmorencies, 

278. 
Hotel      des      Mousquetaires, 

207,  210. 
Hotel  des  Postes,  154. 
Hotel  de  Soissons,  133. 
Hotel  de  Venise,  234. 
Hotel  de  Ville,  132,  137,  191, 

196,  197,  204,  318. 
Hotel    du     Vieux-Augustins, 

16. 
Hotel  la  Tremouille,  251. 
Hotel  Longueville,  89. 
"Hotel   Picardie,"  214. 
Hotel  Rambouillet,  266. 
Hotel    Richelieu,   266. 
Hugo,   Victor,  3,  37,  68,  7i» 

73f    79,   82,    122,    127,    I55» 

156,  158,  223,  239,  363. 
Hugo,    P^re,   82. 
Huntley,  324. 
Hyeres,  351. 

He  de  la  Cite,  86,  131,  133, 
165,  169,  172,  235. 

He  St.  Louis,   165,   169. 

"  Impressions  du  Voyage," 
see  Works  of  Dumas. 

"Inn  of  the  Beautiful  Pea- 
cock," 300. 

Irving,  Washington,  41. 

Island  of  Monte  Cristo,  338. 

Isle   of   France    (Mauritius), 

46. 
Italy,  8,  44. 
Ivry,  88. 


Inbci 


38s 


Jacquot,   51. 

Jallais,  Amedee  de,  233. 

James  II.,  303. 

Janin,  Jules,  363. 

Jardin  des   Plantes,  134,  149. 

"Jeanne    d'Arc,"   see   Works 

of    Dumas. 
Jean-sans-Peur,  215. 
Jerome,  Prince,  271. 
Jerusalem,  369. 
Jesuit  College,  132. 
"Jeune   Malade,"   205. 
Joanna  of  Naples,  369. 
Joigny,  46,  58. 
Jourdain,  Marshal,  84. 
Jouy,  18. 

Joyeuse,  Admiral  de,  365. 
"Jugurtha,"   45. 
Jussac,  252. 

Karr,  Alphonse,  363. 
"Kean,"   see  Works   of  Du- 
mas. 
Kipling,  41. 
Kotzebue,  285. 

L'Abbe    Metel    de    Bois-Ro- 

bert,  228. 
La  Beauce,   166. 
La  Brie,  166. 
Lachambeaudie,  82. 
Lacenaire,  240. 
La  Chapelle,  87. 
La  Chatre,  70. 
"La   Chevrette,"   214. 
La   Cite,    129,    130,    166,    167, 

235,  247. 
"La     Compagne     Lafitte     et 

Caillard,"    157. 
Lacroix,  Paul,  362. 
"  La    Dame    aux    Camelias," 

79. 
La  Dame  aux  Camelias,  see 

Plessis,   Alphonsine,   78. 
"  La    Dame    de    Monsoreau " 

("Chicot  the  Jester"),  see 

Works  of  Dumas. 


Ladislas  L  of  Hungary,  369. 
"La  Feuille"   (Arnault),  71. 
La  France,  163. 
Lamartine,  68,  71,  179. 
Lambert,    Gabriel,   326,    327. 
Langeais,   332. 
"  La     Pastissier     Frangaise," 

104. 
"La  Pate  d'ltalie,"  93. 
La  PressCj  75. 
La  Revue,  54,  64. 
La  Rochelle,  49. 
La  Roquette,  263,  278. 
Lassagne,   31. 
Latin   Quarter,   see   Quartier 

Latin. 
"La    Tour    de    Nesle,"    see 

Works    of   Dumas. 
Launay,  De,  284. 
La  Ville,  130,  166,  167. 
La  Villette,  24,  87,  137. 
Lebrun,   Madame,   179. 
"Le   Chatelet,"   204. 
Leclerc,  Captain,  229. 
"Le    Collier    de    la    Reine" 

(The   Queen's   Necklace), 

see  Works  of  Dumas. 
Lecomte,  General,  227. 
Le  Gaulois,  163. 
Legislative  Assembly,   183. 
Le  Livre,  79. 
Lemarquier,    239. 
Lemercier,   19. 
Le  Mousquetaire,  44. 
"Le    Nord"   Railway,    160. 
Le  Peuple,  98. 
Lescot,  Pierre,  222,  260. 
Lesdequieres,     Duchesse     de, 

293. 
"Les   Frangaises,"   157. 
Les  Grandes  Eaux,  303. 
Les  Halles,  206,  222,  263. 
"Les  Pecheurs  du  Filet,"  see 

Works  of  Dumas,  368. 
"L'Est"    Railway,    160. 
Les  Ternes,  87. 


386 


tnt^cx 


"  Les  Trois  Mousquetaires," 
see  Works  of  Dumas. 

"Le   Stryge,"    198. 

Leuven,  Adolphe  de,  14,  16, 
18. 

L'Homme-Lihre,  75. 

Lille,  49,  160. 

"  L' Image  de  Notre  Dame," 
199,  201, 

Limerick,   y6. 

L'Institut,  167. 

Lisbon,   yj. 

Lisieux,  326. 

Loire,  The,  155,  160,  168,  329- 

331. 
London,    y6,    105,    150,    154, 

179,  189,  321. 
London  Tower,  185. 
Longe,  79. 

Longueville,       Madame      de, 

224. 
"  L'Orleans "     Railway,     160, 

161,   192. 
"L'Ouest"  Railway,   160. 
Louis  L,  yy. 
Louis  IV.,  220. 
Louis  VIL,  130,  173. 
Louis   VIIL,    144. 
Louis  XL,  12,  131. 
Louis  XIL,  131,  134. 
Louis    XIIL,    133,    214,    224, 

266. 
Louis  XIV.,  so,  104,  115,  134, 

135,  143,  224,  260,  267,  288, 
289,  303,  304,  312,  328,  330, 
331. 

Louis  XV.,  135,  166,  318. 
Louis  XVI.,  196,  264,  315. 
Louis  XVIII.,  143,  154,  262. 
Louis-Philippe,  31,  38,  58,  69, 
72,    86,    88,    104,    116,    153, 

180,  193,  268,  270, 
Louvre,    The,    89,    132,    135, 

136,  167,  173,  175,  184,  187, 
195,  208,  212,  215,  221,  241, 
255,  258-264,  315. 


Loyola,  Ignatius,  227. 

Lulli,  115. 

L'Universite,    127,    130,    166, 

167,  244,  248. 
Lutece,  86. 
Luxembourg,    The,    133,    167, 

187,   191,  245-247,  251,  253- 

255. 
Luxembourg,  Gardens  of  the, 

70,  150,  253. 
Lycee    Henri    Quatre,    253. 
Lyons,  157,  I59,  172,  301,  342, 

359. 

Mackeat  (Maquet),  Augus- 
tus, 39-42. 

Madeleine,  The  (Church), 
88,   138,   149,   153. 

Madelonnettes,  The,  134. 

Madrid,    159. 

Madrid,  Chateau  of,  298,  319. 

Maestricht,   50. 

Magazin    St.   Thomas,    147. 

"  Mais  on  Dumas  et  tie','  40, 

51- 
"  Maitre  Adam  le  Calabrais," 

see  Works  of  Dumas. 
Malmesbury,  Lord,  76. 
Mandrin,   Pierre,  91. 
"  Man     in    the     Iron    Mask, 

The,"  288,  289. 
Mantes,  165,   169. 
Marat,  Jean  Paul,  229. 
Marcel,  Etienne,  130,  193. 
Margot,  236. 
"  Marguerite  de  Valois,"  see 

Works  of  Dumas. 
Marie     Antoinette,     50,     236, 

238. 
Mame,   165. 
Marrast,  Armand,  179. 
Mars,  Mile.,  123. 
Marseilles,  155,  219,  229,  261, 

339-342,  349,  351,  358. 
Marsillac,  Prince  de,  90. 
Mattioli,  290. 


fn^cjc 


S^7 


Mauge,  Marquise  de,  214. 
Maupassant,  Guy  de,  228. 
Mauritius    (Isle   of   France), 

46. 
Mazarin,    37,    115,    211,    267, 

273,  275. 
"  Mechanism      of       M^od^rn 

Life,"    loi. 
Medici,    Marie   de,    133,   224, 

260. 
Medici,     Catherine    de,    208, 

212,  264. 
"  Meditations  "    (Lamartine), 

68. 
Mediterranean,  The,  45,  327, 

336,  340. 
"  Memoires,"    see   Works    of 

Dumas. 
"  Memoires    de    M.    d'Arta- 

gnan,"  49. 
"  Memoires       d'un       Maitre 

d'Armes,"    see    Works    of 

Dumas. 
Menilmontant,  87. 
Mennesson,   14. 
Merimee,  69,  159,  368. 
Merle,  De,  18. 
Merovee,   129. 
Meryon,   126-128,   198. 
"Mes  Betes,"   see  Works  of 

Dumas. 
"Messageries  a  Cheval,"  157. 
"  Messageries     Royale,"     157. 
"  Metropolitain,"   204. 
Metz,  157. 
Meulan,   165. 

Meulien,   Pauline  de,  371. 
Meyerbeer,  117. 
Michelangelo,  224. 
Michelet,  69,  82,  98-100. 
Mignet,  69. 
Millet,   71. 

Minister  of  the  Interior,  183. 
Mirabeau,    320. 
Mohammed  Ali,  88. 
Mole,  De  la,  212. 


Moliere,  224. 

Molle,    Mathieu,   211. 

Monastere      des      Feuillants, 

133. 
Monet,    187. 

Monmouth,  Duke  of,  289. 
Monselet,   Charles,    163. 
Monstrelet,   215. 
Montargis,    155. 
"  Monte   Cristo,"   see   Works 

of   Dumas. 
Monte  Cristo,  Island  of,  45, 

338. 
Montez,  Lola,  76,  78. 
Montford,  Comtes  de,  315. 
Montmartre,     87,     142,     146, 

188,  190,  227,  314. 
Montmartre,  Abbaye  of,  227. 
Montmorenci,    Due    de,    255. 
Montpensier,  Due  de,  45. 
Mont   Valerien,  88. 
Monuments    to    Dumas,    140, 

149. 
Morcerf,  Mme.  de,  358. 
Morcerf,    Albert    de,    369. 
Morrel,  House  of,  349. 
Motte,  Mme.  de  la,  228,  241, 

307. 
Moulin  Rouge,  227. 
Moulin  de  la  Galette,  227. 
Mount  of  Martyrs,  227. 
Miiller,  241. 
Munier,    Georges,   46. 
Murat,   351. 
"  Murat,"      see     Works     of 

Dumas. 
Miirger,   Henri,  96. 
Musee,  Cluny,  5. 
Musset,    Alfred    de,    68,    82, 

95,    123. 
"  Mysteries    of    Paris,"   99. 

Nadaud,  Gustave,  96. 
Nancy,   157,   160. 
Nantes,    151,   334-336. 
Nantes,  Edict  of,  334. 


388 


irnt>cx 


Nanteuil,  24. 

Naples,  8,  368. 

Napoleon    L,    i,    25,    74,    88, 

116,  137,  138,  192,  193,  218, 

219,  244,  260,  265,  270,  313, 
325-  367. 

Napoleon     III.,     54,    73,  74, 

89,   102,  144,  180,   181,  183- 

185,     260,     265,     271,  315, 

325- 
Napoleon,  Jerome,  45. 
Nemours,  De,  323. 
Nerval,  Gerard  de,  123. 
Netherlands,  The,  365. 
Nevers,    Duchesse    de,    197. 
New  York,  11,  105. 
Nodier,  Charles,  69,  82,   104, 

156. 
Nogaret,  238. 
Nogent,  88. 
Noirtier,  M.,  229. 
Normandy,  326,  327. 
Notre      Dame,      see      under 

figlise. 
Notre    Dame    de    la    Garde 

(Marseilles),    342. 

Obelisk,  The,  88. 
Observatoire,    The,    135,   244. 
Odeon,    The,    123,    167,    187. 
"Odes  et  Ballades"  (Hugo), 

68. 
"  CEdipus,"   122. 
"Old  Mortality,"  121. 
Oliva,  255. 
Oloron,  49. 
Omnibus,  Companies : 

"  Compagnie    Generale    des 
Omnibus,"    153. 

"La    Compagne    Lafitte    et 
Caillard,"   157. 

"Les       Frangaises,"       157, 

"  Messageries         Royales," 
157. 

"  Messageries     a     Cheval," 

.157. 


"Opera,"    The,    89,    91,    95, 

114,  115,   118,  190. 
Opera    Comique,    190. 
Oratoire,   The,   134. 
Orleans,    155,    160,    237,    330. 
Orleans,   House  of,   181,  324. 
Orthez,  49. 
Orthon,  208. 
Orthos,  172. 
Orthos,  Bridge  of,  172. 
"Otho    the    Archer,"    360. 
Ourcq   (river),  137. 

Pailleterie,     Marquis     de     la, 

see  Dumas,  General. 
Palais   Bourbon,    187. 
Palais    Cardinal,    134,    266. 
Palais    de    Justice,    236,    239, 

241. 
Palais    de    la    Bourse,    137. 
Palais    de    ITndustrie,    141. 
Palais  de  la  Revolution,  270. 
Palais   des   Arts,    173. 
Palais  des   Beaux  Arts,    138, 

143,  238. 
Palais  des  Tournelles,   133. 
Palais  National,  183. 
Palais  Royale,  16,  31,  95,  115, 

134,  167,  183,  187,  224,  228, 

246,  247,  266-273,  275. 
Panorama  Colbert,  148. 
Panorama  Delorme,   148. 
Panorama  de  I'Opera,  148. 
Panorama    du    Saumon,    148. 
Panorama  Jouffroy,    148. 
Panorama   Vivienne,    148. 
Pantheon,   The,  37,    136,   167, 

187,   252,   253. 
Paraclet,  81. 
Pare    Monceau,    228. 
"Paris -Lyon      et      Mediter- 

ranee"     (P.    L.    M.)    Ry., 

160,  161,  192. 
"  Pascal   Bruno,"   see  Works 

of  Dumas. 
Passerelle,    Constantine,    170. 


fn&ex 


389 


Passerelle  de  TEstacade,  170. 

Passerelle    St.    Louis,    170. 

Passy,  87,  150. 

Pau,  354. 

"  Pauline,"    see    Works    of 

Dumas. 
"Paul    Jones"     ("Capitaine 

Paul"),      see     Works     of 

Dumas. 
Pennell,  Joseph,  168. 
Pere  la  Chaise,  81,  142,   146, 

188,   239,   340. 
Perpignan,  372. 
Petit  Pont,   170. 
Petits   Augustins,    143. 
Pfeffers,    371. 
Philippe-Auguste,     130,     I34» 

144,  260, 
Phoebus,  Gaston,  354. 
Pierrefonds,  246,  317. 
Pierrefonds,  Castle  of,  324. 
Picardie,    321. 
"Pilon    d'Or,"   205. 
Pitou,  Louis  Ange,  18,  23,  24, 

317. 
Place   Dauphine,   133,   235. 
Place  de  Bourgogne,   182. 
Place  de  la  Bastille,  148,  167, 

187,  225,  296. 
Place    de    la    Concorde,    136, 

138,  148,  162,  193,  263. 
Place  de  la  Croix-Rouge,  252. 
Place  de  la  Greve,  166,   197- 

199,  201,  234,  239,  287. 
Place    de    I'Hotel    de    Ville, 

148,   197. 
Place  de  la  Madeleine,  194. 
Place  de  la  Nation,  147. 
Place  de  la  Revolution,  263. 
Place    de    St.    Sulpice,    148, 

252. 
Place  des  Victoires,  148. 
Place    des    Vosges,    148,   223, 

225. 
Place  du  Carrousel,  89,   138, 

148,  221. 


Place  du   Chatelet,   148,   205, 

286. 
Place    du     Palais     Bourbon, 

148. 
Place  du  Palais  Royal,  148. 
Place    du    Pantheon,    148. 
Place   Malesherbes,    123,    124, 

140,   149. 
Place  Maubert,  286. 
Place    Royale,    133.    I34,    Ho, 

223-225. 
Place  St.  Antoine,  225. 
Place    Vendome,    137,    148. 
Plaine  de  St.  Denis,  95. 
Plessis,       Alphonsine,       (La 

Dame  aux   Camelias),  78. 
Poe,   E.  A.,  41,  43- 
Poissy,   Gerard   de,   130. 
Poitiers,  Diane  de,  260. 
Pompeii,   5,   45,   57- 
Pont  Alexandre,    173. 
Pont    au    Change,    135,    170, 

171,  173. 
Pont    Audemer,    326. 
Pont  aux  Doubles,  170. 
Pont  de  I'Archeveche,  170. 
Pont    d'Arcole,    170. 
Pont    d'Austerlitz,    170. 
Pont  de  Bercy,  170. 
Pont  de  la  Cite,  170. 
Pont  des  Arts,   170,   172. 
Pont  de  Sevres,  302. 
Pont  des   Invalides,  88. 
Pont   du   Carrousel,   88,    171, 

235. 
Pont  du  Garde,  347- 
Pont  du  Pecq,  31 1»  314- 
Pont    I'Eveque,    327. 
Pont,  le  Petit,  168. 
Pont  Louis  XV.,  i73- 
Pont  Louis-Philippe,  88,  170. 
Pont    Maril,    170. 
Pont   Napoleon,    170. 
Pont  Neuf,  133,  I34,  ^70,  171. 

173. 
Pont  Notre  Dame.  170. 


39° 


ln^cx 


Pont  Royal,  135,  157- 
Pont  St.  Michel,  170. 
Pont  Tournelle,   170. 
Porette,  Marguerite,  239. 
Porte   du   Canal   de   I'Ourcq, 

139. 
Porte  du  Temple,  131. 
Porte  Marly,  314. 
Porte  St.  Antoine,  221. 
Porte    St.    Denis,    131,    220, 

221. 
Porte  St.  Honore,  131. 
Porte    St.    Martin,    104,    113, 

115,   153. 
Porthos,  45,  49,  246,  247,  252, 

324. 
Portu,  Jean  de,  see  Porthos. 
Prison    du    Grand    Chatelet, 

204. 
Proudhon,  M.,  178. 
Provence,  347,  351. 
Puits,  80. 
Puys,  8,   66. 

Quai  de  Conti,  133,  170,  248. 
Qua   de   la   Greve,    166,    197, 

199,  206. 
Quai  de  la  Megisserie,  133. 
Quai  de  la  Monnai,  172. 
Quai  de  I'Arsenal,  133. 
Quai  de  I'ficole,  133,  173. 
Quai   de   I'Horloge,   133,  236. 
Quai  de  THotel  de  Ville,  197, 

206. 
Quai  des  Augustins,  133. 
Quai  des  Ormes,  197. 
Quai  des  Orphelins,  133. 
Quai   d'Orleans,  343. 
Quai  d'Orsay,  138,  170. 
Quai  du  Louvre,   170,   172. 
Quai   Voltaire,   170. 
Quartier  des  Infants-Rouges, 

228. 
Quartier  du  Marais,  133. 
Quartier  Latin,  96,   185,   244. 
"Quentin   Durward,"    13. 


Rachel,  191. 
Railways : 

"Ceinture,"   89,  303. 

"L'Est,"    160. 

"Le   Nord,"    160. 

"L'Orleans,"  160,  161,  192. 

"UOuest,"  160,  303. 

"P.    L.    M."    (Paris-Lyon 
et     Mediterranee),     160, 
161,   192. 
Rambouillet,    297,    298,    315, 

316. 
Ranke,  259. 
Raspail,    179. 
Ravaillac,   224. 
Reade,  Charles,  81. 
"Regulus,"    18. 
Reims,   129,  156. 
Rempart  des   Fosses,   130. 
Renaissance,   132. 
Residences     of     Dumas,    44, 

93,   103,  112,   124,  147,  148, 

150,    188,   220,    303. 
Restaurant        du        Pavilion 

Henri   Quatre,    160. 
"Restoration,"   The,   87,    138, 

154,    155- 
Retz,  Cardinal  de,  520. 
Revolutions,  The,  4,  44,   136, 

138,     140,     154,     164,     172, 

178-180,   193,   196,  224,  227, 

325. 
Revue    des    Deux    Mondes, 

371. 
Rhine,  The,  8. 
Rhone,  347,  349. 
Richelieu,   37,    224,    225,   228, 

244,  252,  266,  289. 
Richelieu,    Marechal,    109. 
Rizzio,    324. 
Roanne,    160. 
"Robert  le  Diable,"   116. 
Robespierre,  324. 
Robsart,  Amy,  121. 
Roche-Bernard,   329. 
Rochefort,   18. 


fn^eI 


391 


Rohan,  De,  37,  224. 

"Roi  d'Yvetot"   (Beranger), 

71. 
Roland,    Madame,    235. 
Rolle,  363. 
Rollin,  Ledru,  179. 
Rossini,  82. 
Rostand,  43. 

Rouen,  'JT,  I59»  160,  169,  327. 
Rougemont,  31. 
Rousseau,  7. 
"Royal  Tiger,"  316. 
Rubens,  191. 
Rue    Beaubourg    (Le    Beau- 

Bourg),   130. 
Rue  Beaujolais,  228. 
Rue  Bourtebourg  (Le  Bourg 

Thibourg),    130, 
Rue    Cassette,   246. 
Rue  Castiglione,   137,  147. 
Rue   Chariot,   228. 
Rue   Coq-Heron,   229-231. 
Rue   d'Amsterdam,   188. 
Rue  Dauphine,  I33- 
Rue  de  Bac,  72,   147. 
Rue  de  Bethusy,  278. 
Rue  de  Bons   Enfants,  272. 
Rue  de  Douai,  187. 
Rue  de  Faubourg  St.  Denis, 

220,  221. 
Rue  de  Crenelle,  147. 
Rue     de     I'Arbre-Sec,     206, 

211. 
Rue  de  la  Chaussee  d'Antin, 

147,  231. 
Rue  de  la   Concorde,   183. 
Rue   de   la  Harpe,   246. 
Rue  de  Lancry,  152. 
Rue  de  la  Martellerie,  215. 
Rue   de  Lille,   255. 
Rue  de  la  Paix,  137,  I47- 
Rue    de   TUniversite,    147. 
Rue  de  Rivoli,  140,  147,  148. 
Rue  des  ficoles,  140. 
Rue     des     Fossoyeurs,     246, 

252. 


Rue  des  Lombards,  205. 

Rue  des  Rosiers,  227. 

Rue     des     Vieux-Augustins, 

234. 
Rue  de  Tivoli,  I37- 
Rue  de  Valois,  228. 
Rue  du  Chaume,  278. 
Rue    du    Helder,    213,    232, 

255. 
Rue  du  Louvre,  230. 
Rue   du    Monte    Blanc,   84. 
Rue     du     Vieux-Colombier, 

251,  252. 
Rue  Drouet,  95. 
Rue  Ferou,  246. 
Rue   Guenegard,   248. 
Rue  Herold,  234. 
Rue  Lafitte,  95- 
Rue  Lepelletier,   114. 
Rue  Louis  le  Grand,  94. 
Rue   Mathieu   Molle,  212. 
Rue  Pelletier,  234. 
Rue  Pigalle,  187. 
Rue  Rambuteau,  92. 
Rue  Richelieu,   102,  112,  115, 

147. 
Rue   Roquette,   225. 
Rue  Royal,  183. 
Rue  Servandoni,  246. 
Rue   Sourdiere,   228. 
Rue    St.    Antoine,    131,    I33, 

147,  285. 
Rue  St.  Denis,  229. 
Rue  St.   Eleuthere,  227. 
Rue   St.   Honore,   147,  228. 
Rue  St.  Lazare,   188. 
Rue   St.    Martin    (Le   Bourg 

St.  Martin),  130. 
Rue   St.   Roch,    148. 
Rue  Taitbout,  214,  231. 
Rue     Tiquetonne,     214,    246, 

247. 
Rue  Vaugirard,  127,  246,  252. 
Rue    Vivienne,    147. 
Rupert,  Prince,  50. 
Russia,  8,  44. 


39* 


fn^ejc 


Sabot,    Mother,   24. 

Sainte    Chapelle,   236. 

Saint  Foix,   135. 

Salcede,   201. 

Salon  d'Automne,   191. 

Salons,    161. 

Salpetriere,  The,   134. 

Sand,     George,     44,    70,     97, 

188,  363. 
Sand,   Karl   Ludwig,  285. 
Saone,   168. 

Sarcey,   Francisque,   163. 
Sardou,  122. 
"Saul,"  18. 
Schiller,  360. 
Scotland,  323. 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,  13,  41,  74, 

121,  360. 
Scribe,    Eugene,   70,   82,    187. 
Sebastiani,  General,  84. 
Second  Empire,  89,  138,  140, 

153,    163,    193. 
Second    Republic,    89,    181. 
Seine,  The,  ^2,  98,   130,    137. 

148,    156,    165-171,    173-175, 

190,  248,  255,  302,  303,  311, 

314. 
Senlis,    317. 
Sens,    46. 
Sevigne,     Madame    de,     102, 

223. 
Seville,  'jd. 

Shakespeare,  121,  122. 
Sicily,  337,   369. 
Sillegue,  Colonel  de,  49. 
"Site   d'ltalie"    (Corot),   72. 
Smith,    William,    179. 
"Soir"   (Corot),  ^2. 
Soissons,  7, 
Soldain,  259. 
Sorbonne,  134,  167,  245. 
Sorbonne,  Robert  de,  244. 
Soulie,  68,  82,   121. 
Soumet,    18. 
Soyer,    103. 
Spain,  8,  45,  160. 


St.     Bartholomew's     Night, 

259,  263. 
St.    Beauvet,   69. 
St.    Benezet   d'Avignon,    172. 
St.  Cloud,  157,  314. 
Ste.  Croix,  Gaudin  de,  286. 
St.  Denis,  227,  314. 
St.     Denis,    Abbey    of,     142, 

143. 
St,  Etienne-Andre-zieux,  160. 
Ste.   Genevieve,  253,  254. 
Ste.  Genevieve,  Abbey  of  37, 

136,    187,   253. 
St.  Germain,  44,  56,  58,  160, 

267,   297,   298. 
St.  Germain,  Abbot  of,  166. 
St.    Germain    des    Pres,    130. 
St.      Germain-en-Laye,      303, 

304,  310-315. 
St.  Germain  I'Auxerrois,  187. 
St.  Gratien,  125. 
St.  Luc,  Marquis,  255. 
St.  Megrin,  122. 
St.   Michel,    130. 
St.  Vincent  de  Paul,  224. 
St.  Victor,  130. 
St.  Waast,  Abbey  of,  324. 
Stendhal,  155. 
Sterne,  322. 

Stevenson,  R.  L.,  41,  44. 
Strasbourg  (monument),  138, 

162. 
Strasbourg,  157. 
"Stryge,  The,"   127. 
Stuart,  Mary,  323. 
Sue,  Eugene,  69,  99,  363. 
Switzerland,  8,  370. 
"Sword  of  the  Brave  Cheva- 
lier,"  251. 
Sylla,  17. 
Sylvestre's,  272. 

Taglioni,  Marie,  116,  117. 
Talleyrand,   Henri   de,  214. 
Talma,  17,  82,  121,  191. 
Tarascon,  349. 


fn^ex 


393 


Tastu  Mme.  Amable,  70. 

Thackeray,  44. 

Thames,  168. 

Theatre  de  la  Nation,  183. 

Theatre  du  Palais  Royal,  7Ty 
268. 

Theatre  Frangaise,  16,  17,  121, 
167,  183,  187. 

"Theatre    Historique,"    44. 

Theatre  Italien,  133. 

Theadlon,    18. 

Theaulon,   31. 

"  The  Conspirators,"  see 
Works  of  Dumas. 

"  The  Queen's  Necklace," 
(Le  Collier  de  la  Reine), 
see  Works  of  Dumas. 

"  The  Regent's  Daughter," 
see  Works  of  Dumas. 

"  The    Sorbonne,"    244. 

"The  Taking  of  the  Bas- 
tille," see  Works  of  Du- 
mas. 

"The   Wandering   Jew,"    99. 

"  The  Wolf-Leader,"  see 
Works    of    Dumas. 

Thierry,  Edouard,  155,  165. 

Thiers,  69,  95. 

"Third   Republic,"   193. 

Titian,    191. 

Title  of  Dumas,  45,  57,  58. 

Touchet,    Marie,    215,    217. 

Toul,    160. 

Toulon,  90,  91,  233,  326,  349, 
351. 

Toulouse,    159. 

"  Tour  de  Jean-sans-Peur," 
214. 

Tour  de  Nesle,  237. 

Tour  de  St  Jacques  la 
Boucherie,   197. 

Tour  du  Bois,  131. 

Tour  EiflFel,  303,  314. 

Tours,  332. 

Tour  St.  Jacques,  140,  167, 
187,  263. 


Tower  of  London,  185. 
"Travels,"     see     Works     of 

Dumas. 
Travels   of  Dumas,  8,  44-46, 

336,  ZZT,  361,  364,  370,  371. 
"  Treasure   Island,"   42. 
Treville,  De,  49,  246,  251. 
Trianon,  The,  303. 
Trocadero,    147.  • 

Trouville,    325,   327,   371. 
Tuileries,    The,   72,    133,    137, 

138,  150,  170,  176,  182,  184, 

185,  261,  265. 
Turenne,  90,  143,  224. 

Universite,  The,  167,  244. 

Val-de-Grace,  The,  134. 

Valenciennes,  49. 

Valois,  House  of,  12,  34,  38, 

195,  318. 
Valois,    Marguerite    de,    197, 

287,  351,  354. 
Valois  Romances,  15,  44,  46, 

148,  171,  195,  205,  215,  225, 

235,  239,  254,  258,  259,  263, 

266,  278,  312,  314,  354,  355. 
Vandam,    Albert,    6,    56,    ^^^ 

77,  94,  95,  116,  n8. 
Van  Dyke,   191. 
Vatel,   199. 

Vermandois,    Count   of,    289. 
Vemet,   191. 
Vernon,    165,    169. 
Veron,  Doctor,  79,   iii,   116, 

117. 
Versailles,   297,   298,   302-306. 
Vesinet,  311. 
"  Vicomte     de     Bragelonne," 

see  Works  of  Dumas. 
Vidocq,  234. 
Viennet,    18. 
Vieux     Chateau,     311,     312, 

313,  314. 
Vigny,  De,  68. 
Villefort,   De,  261,  340. 


394 


fnbex 


Villemessant,  De,  51. 

Villers-Cotterets,  7,  14.  15, 
18,  24,  25,  2T,  33,  34, 
46,   80,   31S,  317,  318,  331. 

Vincennes,   179,  315. 

Vincennes,  Chateau  of,  298, 
320. 

Vincennes,    Fort    of,   320. 

"Vingt  Ans  Aprcs" 
("Twenty  Years  After"), 
see  Works  of  Dumas. 

VioUet-le-Duc,    144,  325. 

Vivieres,  24. 

Voltaire,  121,  122,  238,  288, 
303. 

Volterre,   Ricciarelli  de,  224. 

Wardes,    De,   322. 
Warsaw,  76. 
Waterloo,  25. 
William  III.,  361. 
William  the  Conqueror,  326. 
Windt,    Cornelius    de,    361. 
Windt,   Jacobus   de,   361. 
Windsor,    154. 
Winter,  Lady  de,  223. 
Works    of   Dumas : 
"Ange    Pitou,"    36. 
"  Antony,"  29,  37. 
"Black       Tulip"        ("La 
Tulipe    Noire"),    38,   44, 
360-362,  365. 
"Capitaine    Pamphile,"   89, 

221,   231,   360. 
"Capitaine    Paul"    ("Paul 

Jones"),  38,  350. 
"  Causeries,"  36,  103. 
"  Cherub i no    et    Celestine," 

367. 
"  Chevalier     d'Harmental," 

228. 
"Chicot  the  Jester"  ("La 
Dame  de  Monsoreau"), 
29,  37,  38,  40,  207, 
253,  25s,  301,  319,  329, 
33«,    333. 


'  Comtessc     de     Charny,** 
223,  226,  229,  302,  303. 
Corsican     Brothers,"     89, 
213,  231,  319,  360. 
Count  of  Monte  Cristo," 
29,    38-41,    44,    I09V    218, 
229,   261,    327,    328,    339, 
340,    342,    343,    347,    355, 
358,   361,   368,    369. 
Crimes  Celebres  "  ("  Cele- 
brated    Crimes"),     285, 
286,  323,  350,  372. 
Dictionnaire  de   Cuisine," 

Dix-huit     Mois     a       St. 

Petersburgh,"    364. 
'  Forty- Five     Guardsmen," 

201,  248,  351,  365. 
Gabriel  Lambert,"  89,  91, 

231,  232,  350. 
'  Georges/'  46. 
Henri   IIL   et   Sa   Cour," 

29,  121,  123. 
Impressions   du   Voyage," 

36,  325,  364,  370. 
Jeanne  d'Arc,"   38. 
Kean,"  29. 

La  Tour  de  Nesle,"  237. 
Les    Pecheurs    du    Filet," 

368. 

Les       Trois       Mousque- 

taires"      ("The     Three 

Musketeers"),   29,  38-41, 

44,   48,   54,   75,    126,    127, 

245,    247,    251,    252,    332, 

361. 

Maitre    Adam    le    Cala- 

brais,"    367. 
'  Marguerite     de      Valois, 

173,    175,    198,    210,    212, 

215,    221,   236,   257,    307, 

310,  311,  320. 
Memoires,"  14,  15,  I7,  23, 

25,      29,      32,      34,      36, 

44,  70,  93,  104,   174,  228, 

325,    367. 


fn&cx 


395 


"  Memoires  d'un  Maitre 
d*Armes,"  75,  364. 

"  Mes  Betes,"  36,  45. 

"  Murat,"  z'^'j. 

"Pascal  Bruno,"  367. 

"  Pauline,"  171,  180,  231, 
325,   Z(i7,   370,   371. 

"  The  Conspirators,"  173, 
271,  287. 

"The  Queen's  Necklace," 
("Le  Collier  de  la 
Reine"),  105,  118,  204, 
228,  241,  254,  255,  275, 
295,  303,  306. 

"The  Regent's  Daughter," 
292,  316,  334-336. 


"The  Taking  of  the   Bas- 
tille,"  18,  24,  46,   175,  225, 

250,  279,  288,  303,  317. 
"  The  Wolf-Leader,"  33,  46. 
"  Vicomte   de    Bragelonne," 
24,  29,  38,   169,   199,  200, 
205,    247,    259,    273,    288, 
292,    298,    300,    321,    328, 
330,  332. 
"  Vingt         Ans         Apres " 
("Twenty     Years     Af- 
ter"), 29,  214,  225,  245- 
247,  303,  310,  324, 

Zola,  7,  44,  64,  129,  188. 


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